The Keening Blade
by Arsinoe de Blassenville
Summary: She hesitated-"Mostly, I couldn't kill you, knowing that I cheated. At the Landsmeet. Our duel." There was a heavy silence. Loghain said slowly, "You do realize that I am holding a naked sword at this very moment?" M for sound reasons.
1. The Warden and Her Peace Offerings

**The Keening Blade**

_**Life is a comedy to those who think: a tragedy to those who feel.-Horace Walpole**_

**_-And to a thinking, feeling person, it can be both.-Arsinoe de Blassenville_**

**Chapter 1: The Warden and Her Peace Offerings_  
_**

Fortune had bound Loghain to her Wheel and then departed, leaving the Wheel— with Loghain still attached-in the hands an unpredictable girl. Unpredictable at the very least. Sometimes—odd. Occasionally he wondered if she might be mad.

To some extent, he acknowledged, she was his creation. And he had certainly been—not mad, no—that wasn't possible. But he had certainly done things in the past year that now baffled him completely.

As to her companions: well, they were a peculiar lot, to say the least. And it was ironic that the most accepting of them was the one with the Orlesian accent. Pretty. Red-haired. And determined to act as if they were _friends._ It chilled his blood. Nonetheless, he must endure her presence and be grateful for the useful information she gave him: nuggets dredged from the mighty slag heap of her endless prattle.

Some things he could see for himself, of course. It had not taken more than two days in the girl's company to notice that she never missed a chance at loot.

It had shocked him somewhat, that first time, seeing her and the Orlesian leaving the road to examine a pair of swollen corpses. At first he thought those two rather sweet young girls were going over to say a prayer. They fell to their knees on the ground besides the bodies, indeed, but only to rifle the pockets of the dead.

Since then, wherever they went, if there was an abandoned wagon, or a dead body, or a deserted cottage (or even sometimes not so deserted a cottage), he saw that the girl would take anything not absolutely nailed down. And finding nice things always pleased her. She did not hoard them selfishly away, however, for the Orlesian told Loghain that the girl liked to give presents.

"Maude is so dear," she babbled on, imagining that he wanted her company as they traveled. "So generous. It is her noble upbringing, of course, but it is in her nature to be kind. I saw that in her from the day we met."

He grunted. Somehow the Orlesian took that as encouragement.

"It was in Lothering. I had been in the Chantry there for the past two years—"

"Really?" He asked, somewhat surprised. "Your work as a spy bored you?"

"A—spy? she faltered.

"Don't play games with me, young woman," he snorted. "You've been on our lists for years as a known Orlesian spy. Why do you suppose I believed the Warden to be an agent of the Orlesians?"

"It was—because of me?" she whispered, distressed. "Oh, Maker! That is terrible. No—no! You must believe me, I have put that all behind me, and I only wished to help. When she came to Lothering, I could see that she was the one who would fight the Blight. I had a vision of darkness…"

Loghain rolled his eyes, letting the nonsense wash over him. He really had completely mistaken the situation. The former spy had gone round the bend, and was completely wrapped up in her religious mania. She had had _visions_, Maker help us all.

"—But I was telling you how nice Maude is, yes? So generous. She always remembers the things one says to her, no matter how silly. Once I told her how I missed the beautiful shoes in Orlais, and that I had had my eye on a pair before I left—pale blue silk, with amber beads…"

Her voice grew dreamy then, sounding much the same as when she went on about her _visions._ Loghain wondered if this was some divine punishment, to be forced into the company of a demented Orlesian bard and made to listen to her rhapsodizing about bloody _shoes_.

"—And you know, not a week later, we met a dwarf trader, and Maude gave me the shoes she bought from him for me—and they were blue satin and perfectly lovely. I take them from my pack sometimes and look at them, and think about the dress I shall wear with them when the Blight is over. It is very comforting."

Loghain grunted again. _Maker kill me now._

"—And I told her once how my mother always smelled like Andraste's Grace—the flower—you know? And that it was rare in Orlais and that I missed it. And now, when she sees one, she picks it and gives it to me. Isn't she the dearest thing?"

"Hmph."

"—and it isn't just me, of course. She is thoughtful like that to everyone. She found an amulet that had belonged to Alistair's mother when we were in Redcliffe, and he was so grateful—"

She paused, and hurried on, obviously aware that Alistair was apparently _not_ all that grateful, or he would sodding well be _here._

"She found out that Wynne adores old books, and that Sten appreciates paintings, that Oghren loves fine liquors…"

"Hard to miss _that,"_ Loghain muttered.

"—and Morrigan can't have enough jewelry—and of course Maude found her mother's grimoire for her—and _that_ was quite an adventure, I can tell you—"

"I'm sure you will."

"—because Morrigan wanted Maude to fetch this book of her mother's, but didn't want to go herself, so Maude took some of us and we went down into the Wilds to ask for the book, and it sounds simple enough, but Morrigan did _not_ tell us that her mother would turn into an enormous dragon and try to eat us—"

Loghain stopped and stared.

"Because Morrigan's mother was Flemeth—yes—really—_that_ Flemeth—isn't it amazing? The old stories never end, you know, and we found ourselves in hers. So Maude killed her, though Morrigan thinks she will come back someday. But my point is to show you what Maude will do for her friends."

"Killing a dragon for a friend is indeed impressive," Loghain granted sourly. "though I'm not sure a true friend has the right to ask such a thing."

"Oh—well—but you see how Morrigan is," Leliana confided in a breathless whisper. "The woman is vile fiend!"

"So it would seem."

"—But Maude is perfectly lovely to her, too. It is her nature, certainly. Morrigan scoffs, and says that Maude simply has a thing for saving people, but I think that is why she is so special. If she did not care about saving people, Arl Eamon would be dead, and either Arl Eamon's son or wife would be dead, and all the people of Redcliffe, and perhaps the whole Circle of Magi, and perhaps all the Dalish elves in the Brecilian Forest, and—and—and—"

"Me," Loghain supplied tersely. "That is what you meant to say, is it not?"

Feelingly, Leliana declared, "I was never prouder to call her friend than I was that day. Others might be angry, but if they had troubled themselves to understand her, or simply to think about all her deeds, they would have understood that everything else she had done was in preparation for that noble act. Maude has never struck down an enemy who surrendered. Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Leliana," Loghain said coldly, "It's hardly the first time I'd been given a 'second chance.'"

"It was the first time _Maude_ gave you one," the bard countered triumphantly. "Besides, she is such an admirer of yours, I am sure it would have hurt her very much to have killed you."

* * *

Not all the Warden's companions were as affable as the Orlesian bard. The big Qunari eyed him thoughtfully, without fear and without disguise, but said very little. The dwarf glared blearily, when not muttering to himself. The older mage—Wynne was her name—shot him little hostile glances, sharp as flensing knives.

Her words were no less sharp. After one particularly acrimonious exchange, the mage stormed on ahead, leaving him astonished at the depth of her personal anger toward him.

"Do not concern yourself with that old woman's barbs," drawled Morrigan, who had come up beside him. "She is perhaps the only one of our party who genuinely misses Alistair. She adores Alistair. 'Tis sickening how she dotes. She treats him like her—grandson, or some such nonsense. I heard her warn Maude very sternly at one point against breaking his pure and innocent heart."

Loghain gave the beautiful young woman a raised brow. Half-naked as she was, she was certainly worth a look. He wondered how her skin—all of that skin-could be so smooth and fair after months of trekking through the wilderness and endless fighting. Morrigan noticed him looking and preened slightly.

She continued, "Maude is entirely too tolerant of the old woman's sermons, but in this case she did have the spirit to ask Wynne if she cared nothing for Maude's own heart. The answer was—no."

"_Is_ it broken?" Loghain found himself asking.

Morrigan gave a throaty chuckle. "Wounded, perhaps, but hardly broken. She is not such a fool, though she is vexingly tenderhearted in general. Once I feared she might come to find that village idiot charming—if only because of the alarmingly small size of our social circle—but while I heard many vile rumors about her and Alistair during our travels she gave Loghain a faint, superior sneer—I am happy to say that our Warden remains pure, virginal, and unspoiled, despite that assassin of yours teaching her to recite filthy verses in Antivan."

"Hardly _my_ assassin."

"No, indeed!" replied Morrigan with great satisfaction. "He is the Warden's assassin, and happy to be so!"

"So I am!" purred the elf, coming up beside Loghain on the other side. "After all," he smirked at his former employer, "I told her at the time that there were worse things than serving the whims of a gorgeous, deadly sex goddess. Wouldn't you agree?"

Loghain gave him a level look that sent the assassin away hastily.

"Good riddance," said Morrigan glancing at the retreating Zevran.'Tis a wonderment to me that Maude can put up with his impertinence—and even reward him for it—giving him boots of Antivan leather because he waxed maudlin one night…"

"I understand that she is a very generous leader."

"Yes," Morrigan answered, her brow knit in a frown. "She is. Far more than any of us deserve. I believe it is something that gives her great pleasure, so she does get something from it, I suppose. "

It was a sensible practice, after all, Loghain thought to himself. A successful mercenary captain—which the girl was, essentially—understood that mere booty and coin were not enough to bind a company to together, nor to insure loyalty. Personal gifts to a valued subordinate-gifts which acknowledged the individual's worth—well, people never forgot such things.

He had done it himself, of course. The girl simply seemed to have a special knack for divining the things that would be meaningful to her followers. That was very clever of her, though he had never thought her a fool.

But she was so painfully young. It was difficult to reconcile the accomplished warrior who had bested him at the Landsmeet- or the silver-tongued intriguer who had crowned a king in Orzammar and won unhoped-for allies for Ferelden- with Bryce Cousland's wild girl of years before.

True, she was already so changed by the time he had seen her at Ostagar that he had hardly known her again.

Two years younger than Anora. The girls had been friendly enough, and he had certainly not objected to Anora associating with the one girl in Ferelden who was technically her equal.

But they had been very different, and Anora had been bemused and faintly horrified by Maude's antics. He had been rather bemused by them, himself. He had seen her now and then as she grew up, but the first time he had ever taken notice of her was during Maric's last Landsmeet, when the girl had been running a race through the palace with a pack of noble boys, and had burst into the council room, vaulted the table, and leaped from the window, while the boys hung back, panic-stricken at the august presences.

The men had crowded to the window, wondering if the girl had managed to kill herself this time, but she had landed safely on a ledge, and gave her father a cheerful wave and a brilliant smile as she ran away lightly over the roof tops. Loghain smiled faintly to himself, thinking of the day and the reckless, coltish girl, and that smile that flashed out like a sunbeam.

Maric had laughed and clapped Bryce on the back.

"She's her mother's daughter!"

"That she is," Bryce agreed, with rueful tenderness. "and I thank the Maker for it."

At the time, Loghain had thought to himself that he would have warmed her bottom for her, were he her father. Lively and charming though she was, that wild streak could well get her killed in some horrible and ridiculous way. She needed a firm hand, he decided, and Bryce was foolishly indulgent.

However, she was not, after all, his daughter, so he had merely glowered and held his peace. Howe had caught his eye and murmured. "Quite the little spitfire, isn't she? Only a child now, of course, but in a few years she's likely to turn any number of heads…" He had shrugged expressively.

Perhaps that had influenced him after Maric's death. He pushed ahead with the marriage that he and Maric had always planned, and somehow the Cousland girl had dropped out of sight for a few years.

There had been a rumor about an arranged marriage for her with her cousin, the heir of Arl Bryland, but that obviously had gone nowhere. She had remained in Highever—in the north mostly—rarely coming to Denerim and never to Court with her parents. There had been talk and speculation, but nothing solid. He had had more important issues before him, and he had forgotten her existence until the day they met again at Ostagar.

A report from Orzammar mentioned the new king referring to her "legendary charm." Loghain and Howe had puzzled over it. Such an odd phrase for a dwarf to use. Since when did dwarves find anyone or anything "charming?" Howe had sneered, but it had made them both rather uneasy. Though Maric's bastard was little more than a cipher, the Cousland girl clearly was not.

She was a mystery.

* * *

And that evening she descended on him, her wonderful smile unleashed, her arms full of bundles: one thin, one bulky, and one rather long. In a loose linen shirt and tight leather pants, she looked much smaller than she did in full armor, and—quite—well…

"May I speak to you?"

"I suppose I have a moment," he replied ungraciously, pretending to be intent on cleaning his greaves. Not wearing his armor in her presence made him uncomfortable for all sorts of reasons.

She took no notice of his tone, but arranged her long legs gracefully as she sat down by him on the fallen log he had claimed. As she spread out her burdens before her, Loghain began to feel a faint stir of apprehension. Was the girl actually going to give him presents?

She was indeed.

"These are for you," she told him, eyes shining. The mabari came up sniffing, and Loghain scratched his ears, feeling comforted by the dog's presence. A well-trained beast. For some reason, the dog had taken to Loghain from the first. In fact, the marsh witch had told Loghain that "the filthy mongrel" was not without some sense, as he preferred Loghain to Alistair.

Filthy Mongrel's—no—_Ranger's_ mistress—was looking at him expectantly.

Loghain made no move, but looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Are you attempting to buy my allegiance?"

"I am attempting to give you lovely presents," she said composedly. "I love to give gifts. You should open that one," she said, pointing at the long wrapped object. "You're going to like it,"

She was using that _voice _of hers now. That voice that had made her cause and undone his own. That special voice she used to make people do things she wanted. Maker, but it was persuasive and seductive. It was the perfect voice to use with people who liked their thinking done for them. It irritated Loghain beyond words.

She was perfectly capable of speaking like a normal human being, and did, most of the time. Her real voice was pleasant and musical enough. But when she wished to persuade, it grew low and insistent, insinuating and vibrant. Others might melt under its power, but to Loghain it was fingernails scraping over a veridium shield.

He scowled at her. "Don't speak to me," he said crisply, "as you do to your puppets."

She was puzzled and hurt. "But it's wonderful she began, in a normal tone.

He sighed. "That's better." He pushed aside the dark green velvet and saw the sword. And stopped. _Holy Maker._

At first he thought it was Maric's sword, but this was not the same. It was magnificent: a dragonbone longsword, glittering with enchantments.

The girl was studying his face, drinking in his expression like a thirsty child.

Stubbornly, he tried to say nothing, but it was impossible.

"You cannot possibly intend to give me this. Do you understand what it is worth?"

"I do give you this. It is yours. Isn't it gorgeous? Its name is The Keening Blade."

Hesitantly, he wrapped his hand around the hilt, and almost trembled at the sensation of _rightness._ This was passion: this was a coming together. He drew a breath over his teeth.

"You see?" the girl said, very pleased. "It knows you now. I've had it for awhile, and when you joined us, I knew it had to be yours."

"You did not give this to Alistair?"

Her pretty face grew stony. "No Keening Blade for Alistair. It's not for him. It's yours. It's yours already. I don't want to talk about Alistair. I'm very disappointed in him." She threw him a dark look under her brows. "You cost me Alistair, you know."

Loghain smirked, thinking of that fool's behavior at the Landsmeet. It was the one pleasant memory of the day—when Alistair threw away the friend who had done everything for him in a fit of pique.

"Yes—well—you can thank me later. But this sword-you do not want it for yourself?"

A quick, impatient gesture. "I already have a dragonbone sword that suits me perfectly and is better proportioned to my size. And when I put my hand on this monster's hilt," she said, with a wave at the sword, "I could tell it did not much like me. It seems to like you, though," she observed.

Loghain could sense something of the sort. This was an ancient weapon, surely, and very nearly alive.

"Where did you find this?"

She laughed with delight. "I know you might think I found it in the Deep Roads or in the Frostbacks or in some Elvish ruin, she said, "but that would not be the case. I got it off a demon who lived right in Denerim in a little house in Stealcopper Court."

He frowned. He prided himself on a detailed knowledge of the city of Denerim, and he had never heard of an ancient spirit in that shabby back street. "You made a bargain with a demon for this?"

She was briefly scandalized, and then very amused. "A deal with a demon?" she scoffed, with a smothered laugh. "No! I killed it, of course!"

"Of course," he agreed sardonically.

To his dismay, the girl stroked her fingertips delicately along the sword's shining blade. The gesture caused him an uncomfortable throb of desire. Gritting his teeth, he wondered if she was tormenting him deliberately.

Possibly not. She was telling him more about the sword, clearly pleased with herself.

"I had heard these rumors about something rather dangerous when I was in Orzammar. A very nervous dwarf dropped a hint, and I had some other information. Some spirit that would attract the curious and then hunt them relentlessly. When I was in Denerim, I thought I'd have a look myself. So I found the house, and there it was waiting!"

She laughed to herself. "Very full of itself, it was! An ancient spirit with the name Barfang or Garshang or Kaxxbang. I forget. Anyway, It told me it would not be simply a footnote to the history of the Grey Wardens, and then did the standard 'You die here,' sort of thing. People are always telling me how they're going to kill me," she added. "If they just got on with it instead of talking about it, they might have a better chance."

He said nothing. There was nothing to say.

She went on cheerfully, "So I killed it and took its stuff. It didn't want to be a footnote, but since I didn't quite catch the name, it won't even be that. And that is the story of the The Keening Blade. And now it is yours."

"Why is it called that?"

"I don't know!" the girl laughed. "We'll find out!" She looked at him as expectantly as her grinning mabari. "But you do like it, don't you?"

"Yes." He made the effort. "Thank you."

He had not meant to encourage her. His response, however, caused her eyes to light like candles. She pushed over a bulky mass, which when unwrapped proved to be a Griffon helmet—a winged miracle of silverite.

"You want me to wear this, I take it?" he ventured. He hated helmets, and always had. It was a trade-off, certainly, but he preferred being able to actually hear what was going on around him to a helmet's limited protection.

"Yes, yes, yes," she urged. "It's like mine, only nicer, really. It goes with your armor. Isn't it gorgeous? I'm sure it will fit."

"No doubt." Inwardly he groaned. "Are you ordering me to wear this infernal object?"

Her face fell. Loghain felt he had gained a minor victory, and at the same time as if he had kicked a puppy.

"Yes—I thought you'd like it," she said, looking disappointed. "I love wearing mine. Everybody knows who and what I am. It speeds things along, not having to always explain."

She made a sweeping gesture to an unseen audience. "_'I am a Grey Warden,_ she proclaimed. "_'Do you need my help?'_ I've told Leliana that she should set it to music. "

"And then," cut in Morrigan, who walked by, hips swaying, "the fools cry out, _'Oh, Grey Warden! Lift the curse! Slay the dragon! Find my cat!'_ Really! You are such a goody-good!" Her drawling voice trailed away, as she disappeared into her own tent.

"Yes-well—"the girl said, embarrassed. "Sometimes, I suppose…" She scowled at Loghain's amusement. "The cat thing is a _complete_ fabrication. Anyway-the helmet makes me more imposing, though being imposing is not a problem for you, I daresay."

"Not in some time. You don't mind not being able to hear?"

"Oh!" she said, looking relieved. "That's why you have reservations! No problem! These are very cleverly designed—probably enchanted, too. Try it! You'll find you can hear perfectly well!"

So much for that excuse, then. Loghain sighed to himself. The third item was of heavy linen paper, carefully folded.

"I found this at Redcliffe, and I looked at it again the other night. I was feeling so self-righteous after Ostagar. It never occurred to me that I could ever be wrong about anything. I know now that you made the right tactical decision at the time. I was late with the beacon…" her voice faltered, and she looked away.

"Yes—I was late. The Tower of Ishal was crawling with darkspawn, and I was green as grass and couldn't cut through them fast enough. And at the top an ogre was waiting."

She blew out a breath. "If I had known then what I know now, I would never have stopped to clear out the side rooms! I would have run through the corridors and up the stairs, and not stopped to engage the bloody bastards! I would have barred the door behind me at the top, and I would have tossed a burning stick to get the beacon going, and _then_ fought the ogre. As it was, I made a complete hash of that fight. I _know_ how to kill ogres pretty fast now, of course…" she told him, her voice darkening.

"It's the one conversation I never dared have with Alistair, and I suppose it's why he hates you so much. He has to blame you for Duncan, so he doesn't have to blame himself. But I know what happened, and so do you." She cocked her head. "We're the only people left alive who were at that council the night before the battle. The Revered Mother didn't make it out, I heard. Uldred went bonkers and was possessed by a pride demon—that's a whole other story—and there was Duncan and there was the King. And you and me. I heard you warn the King, and I heard him dismiss you. I know you didn't have some sort of sinister plot going to murder him."

"That totally means the world to me."

"Don't be like that. Anyway, it just made me so furious that you called me a traitor. I couldn't understand how you could imagine I—or the Wardens—had anything to do with Orlais. But you must remember that when I was born, Ferelden was already free." She gestured again to the gift.

Loghain unfolded an old map of Orlais. On it, Ferelden appeared simply as a province of the Empire. He managed a grim smile. This had been the shape of his world in childhood, and he had done the impossible to change it.

It was clearly a peace offering. And besides…

"Thank you," he managed. "I find maps very interesting."

"Do you?" she said, catching fire with the knowledge. "So do I! Father had a whole codex of them bound together at home, and I loved it so much. We would play "the map game," and I would shut my eyes and open the book at random and put my finger down and pretend I was going to travel to that spot." She laughed disarmingly. "Mostly I ended up drowning in the Amaranthine Ocean!"

He winced, remembering Maric. _What a stupid, wretched way to die. And completely unnecessary._

"You must be tired," she apologized, seeing his face close down. "I should let you rest, instead of hounding you." She made to leave, but his hand caught at her wrist.

"Why are you doing this? Are you trying to resolve things between us? What is it that you want of me?"

"I _want_," she said, her face growing grave, "to defeat the Blight. I want to do my duty. I cannot do it alone. I felt you could help me, and I still feel so, even though Alistair did not. I want you to—well—no—let's not do it this way. Let me ask you this: what do _you _want?"

"What do I want?" he asked, surprised. "What an odd question. I want to ride back to Denerim and sit in the war room and find no empty seats at the table. I want to lose nothing else. I want a line, clearly drawn that I can defend. I want an end to this war—"

"But don't you see?" she burst out. "Those are the things I want, too!" Her voice had risen, and the others were looking over, frowning at him for upsetting their leader.

She saw them looking, and gave them a wave. She lowered her voice again for Loghain's ears only.

"But what I _wish most of all" _she said, bitterly earnest "is that none of this had happened. I _wish_ I could awaken in my chamber in Highever Castle to the sound of my mother's voice. I _wish_ this burden had not fallen to me. But it has. I must carry it, for no one else has come forward, I can tell you! If I had died at Highever, Alistair would still be wandering the Wilds, looking for a clue!"

He gave her a look. "You did not join the Wardens by choice, then?"

She shook her head, with a sour half-smile. "Duncan extorted my Father's consent as he lay dying in our larder. It was the price of saving me from the massacre. He dragged me away, while my mother was still alive and fighting to cover our escape. She must have lasted quite a while, defending that wretched door, and Maker knows what they did to her at the end. If it had been left to me, I would have stayed, or I would have insisted that she come, even if it lessened out chances. But Duncan dragged me away, and she was left to die alone."

"Did you hate Duncan?" he asked, surprised.

She shook her head. "He was a hard man to hate. He was very kind to me on our journey south to Ostagar. And after I accepted that my parents were dead, I wanted desperately to see my brother Fergus. I learned a great deal from Duncan, though not about the Wardens themselves, of course. Grey Wardens are so ridiculously secretive—even about things that don't need to be. I still don't know why we're needed to end the blight. Maybe Riordan will break down and spill all his secrets once we make it to Redcliffe."

"Possibly. That presumes he'll survive his journey and is there to meet us."

"You _are_ just a ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

At that, a short, rusty laugh was forced from him. "I do try." He stared into the darkness. "I survived your test, after all. I'm sure you weren't expecting that. You must think I'm some kind of monster: you keep striking at me, and I just keep refusing to die."

She looked very sad, and turned her head away. "If you're a monster, then so am I. A pair of monsters at a campfire, bound by the taint."

They were silent together for a few heartbeats, before the girl declared brightly, "And we're not alone, after all!" She reached out to scratch Ranger's ears. "He's one of us, you know, poor beast. A hound can't chew off a hurlock's face without exposing itself to the taint. He was sick at first, and I wondered if I was going to lose him, but then he was all right. My brave and faithful mabari Grey Warden!"

Ranger barked happily at them both.

"Of course," the girl whispered, with more than a touch of sarcasm. "that is a terribly important Grey Warden secret, too; and we are bound by oath never to reveal the existence of Grey Warden mabaris to the unsuspecting world. People can live their happy little lives in peace _because they do not know about them!_"

The dog put its head in her lap, and Loghain reached over to smooth back the silky fur from the top of its head. The dog shut his eyes in bliss.

"Do you know," she asked drolly, "that there is a rumor going round that the Grey Wardens are evil, and that we worship the Archdemon? And that there aren't really any darkspawn in the south? 'It's all Grey Warden work!'"

He snorted. "Worship the Archdemon? Like the Tevinters of old and their dragons?"

"Well," she said, "I did come across this bizarre dragon cult in the Frostbacks. They worshipped a High Dragon as Andraste reborn."

"You use the past tense in speaking of them."

"Yes," she agreed. "Well—yes. I killed them and took their stuff. And I killed the dragon, too."

His brows knit. "You've probably killed more dragons than anyone in Thedas! I was told about another one in the Wilds—"

"Morrigan's mother!" The girl rolled her eyes. "I suppose I have. I think, counting drakes and young, I've killed about thirty dragonkind in the past year. Only two high dragons, though. They're awful buggers to put down."

He was impressed. Really and truly impressed. "There's nothing like practice before facing the Archdemon."

"That's what I say!" she agreed, slapping her thigh. "We may not have griffons and masses of Grey Wardens, but there is no reason we can't deal with the Archdemon in dragon form. I've a pretty good system figured out now…"

And she was off, describing practical dragonslaying tactics in detail. Loghain listened, fascinated and entertained. This was no foolish legend, no useless ancient lore, but a realistic solution to the Blight: workmanlike, sensible, and detailed.

"-And that's why mages are so valuable." she said, near the end of her lesson. "I'm afraid you are most likely to be chosen to do the dangerous part—which is distracting the dragon by looking menacing and knightly and stupidly heroic-while I do the sneaky bit of climbing up and slipping my sword just behind the back of the skull into its brain. Mostly though, it's not very romantic: we're just chipping away at the dragon like woodsmen at an old oak."

"It sounds very well thought-out," Loghain approved. "You certainly have not been idle. I'm not sure I can look as stupidly heroic as Alistair, but I daresay with practice—"

"And the helmet," she pointed out.

"Ah yes. The helmet should do much for my stupidly heroic image. I hope to prove worthy of your trust."

She smiled at him oddly, and leaned in. For a moment, he thought she was going to kiss his cheek, like a dutiful, affectionate daughter.

Instead she said, "You already have."

She smiled to herself, and petted the mabari in long, deep strokes that caused Loghain yet more distress. He wondered if this is what those prisoners felt, who when in their captors' power too long, sometimes grew attached—docile—even imagining themselves _in love._

The elder mage—Wynne—was glaring at him, eyes full of suspicion. It occurred to him that sitting here with the girl and her dog might look improperly intimate. He considered moving away, but he was damned if he would let any dried-up she-mage bully him. Better to be teased and frustrated by the girl and her presents.

He picked up the sword again, laying it across his knees, studying the runes. The Keening Blade had a bluish, frosty gleam. It was altogether splendid, and undoubtedly the finest weapon he had ever possessed. His fingertips touched the pommel lightly, reveling in the feeling of acceptance and complicity radiating from the weapon.

"It's certainly not what I expected," he admitted wryly. "I expected you to kill me for what I had done to you, but you did not."

"I wanted to kill_ Howe_, of course," the girl told him. "I would never have been able to rest easy had I not, but I did. He was the deadest man who ever lived by the time I was through with him, and you know what? My parents have yet to make a reappearance." She raked a hand through her long and thick brown hair, a habit Loghain had now spotted as a mark of distress.

"I never wanted to kill you," she told Loghain. "Well—sometimes—but most of the time I didn't. I wanted to talk to you and work things out, but I couldn't find a way. And at the Landsmeet the only reasons really to kill you were to please Alistair and to make it easier for Arl Eamon to take your place—which counts as pleasing _him_, I suppose. And I see no reason to toady to Arl Eamon. He owes me, not I him."

"You don't like Eamon," he remarked, interested.

"He's a dick," she said flatly.

Astonished at such a vulgarism from her, he raised his brows.

The girl's eyes were blazing. "I saved him and everything he holds dear—and I went to the ends of the bloody earth and killed a dragon to do it! Then when I ask for _one_ thing—to spare the life of _one man_—the pompous old bastard had the stones to refuse me! I wanted to save that poor sad mage you told to poison him—after all, the fellow went into the Fade and rescued Eamon's only child! I asked for that _one single thing_, and Eamon fobs me off with a stupid shield I'll never use! I wish now I'd just conscripted Jowan!"

She was up and pacing in front of the fire, furious as a thwarted hunting cat. "And _Eamon's_ the one who's fanned the flames of civil war by blabbing about Alistair's ancestry. He was the only one in all Ferelden who wanted Alistair to be king. Alistair certainly didn't want it. Teagan doesn't really want it. I thought it a really bad idea at first. You don't know how often I wished I had led our party to South Reach and my cousin Arl Bryland, Or just bloody stuck to the magi, elves, and dwarves."

She rose and paced restlessly. The mabari watched her with loving eyes.

"Yes—Alistair has Theirin blood, but so have most of the nobles in Ferelden. I'm a descendent of King Calenhad half a dozen times over, myself. Alistair has not a shred of leadership in him—and that's almost entirely the fault of Eamon's treatment of him in childhood. Why didn't Maric just acknowledge him? He wouldn't have been the only royal bastard in Ferelden history!"

"He almost did," Loghain told her, wanting to defend his friend. "Maric was not one to shirk a duty." His voice grew tense. "but it would have ruined Rowan! She would have been reduced to the status of a concubine in the eyes of our neighbors, and Cailan's rights would have been called into question. At least with Eamon, Alistair had a childhood."

She whirled on him, her face contorted. Loghain blinked in astonishment. For a moment he thought she would hit him.

"A fine childhood indeed!" she snarled. "Shunted off to the stables to sleep on straw! He jokes about being raised by dogs, but there's many a true word spoken in jest! Given the boot at the age of ten when Eamon married that bitch Isolde. Told from his earliest years that he was nothing and nobody and must never, ever, do anything to call attention to himself.

"And you know what?" she said, almost spitting the words, "He learned those lessons so well that he could never function effectively for me even as a second-in-command. He's not a fool, really, but he's learned to play one to protect himself. If I sent him out as a two-man scouting patrol with Ranger, it would have been Ranger that led the way! Eamon could hardly done worse to him if he was deliberately avenging the slight to his sister! And perhaps he was."

Loghain was silent, thinking it over. The girl had not finished with the subject.

"But now Alistair is suddenly valuable! Eamon has latched on to him, I am convinced, almost entirely to keep his special place at the side of a king. And perhaps out of guilt at the shabby treatment Alistair received from him. I repeat," she said, very distinctly. "Eamon is a dick. He is a fucking dick. And one of the worst things you did to me was force me to be his ally!"

Loghain held his peace, feeling the girl was being completely unreasonable, but knowing enough of young women not to attempt to defend himself when she was in his state. Even Anora did not get this angry.

"And by the way," she snarked, sitting back down beside him on the log, "Eamon's annoyed with me because he wanted a Cousland queen. And I did not cooperate."

"It would hardly have been surprising had you put yourself forward as Alistair's consort," he ventured quietly. "Your father was nearly elected king after Maric's death, and thus you have a claim of your own to the crown. You would have undoubtedly have been accepted by the Landsmeet."

"Well, too bad! I didn't feel like deposing Anora, which Eamon was so eager to do. She's a very effective queen—when she's allowed to be she gave Loghain a fierce scowl—"and the Landsmeet should just shut their faces and give thanks for her. When I met with her—at Eamon's urging—I didn't feel like lying to her. I told her I would support her—with certain conditions. In return, she would support me—also with certain conditions."

"Which were?"

"She had to marry Alistair, and I had to find a way not to kill you."

"Ah."

"If she has to spend the rest of her life telling Alistair which boot goes on which foot, she at least deserved to get something out of the bargain."

"You're an honorable woman," he said gravely.

She grimaced, her pretty features twisted in disgust. "Sometimes. There were other reasons not to kill you. I later pointed out to Alistair that killing his betrothed's father was perhaps not the best way to start their relationship."

"Anora's always been a very practical child—"

"And I—who saw my father bleed out, was not going to kill another woman's father in front of her. I wasn't going to do it. The idea was revolting."

The dog whined, sensing her overwrought state. She rubbed the hound's chin, and shrugged.

"And maybe I just wanted what this cousin of Mother's wanted. She and her husband fought all the time, and he was scandalously unfaithful to her. Mother asked why she didn't just kill the man, and Olwyn replied that she wanted him 'alive and suffering. The girl gave Loghain a sidelong glance and a half-smile.

He snorted. "Your idea of making me suffer appears to consist only in presenting me with magnificent gifts."

"I've already done the worst thing possible to you in making you a Grey Warden. I can't go on hating someone I've already killed. Now I can be nice to you because now you're just like me: you've lost your name and your title and your home, and the same awful ickiness flows through your veins—"

_"Ickiness?"_ muttered Loghain. She _really_ was not all there.

Leliana smiled at them from the far side of the fire, and rose, bringing over two steaming silver chalices.

"Something to keep out the cold," she told them sweetly, in her irritating Orlesian accent. Nonetheless, it smelled spicy and delicious, and Loghain granted her a nod of thanks and an inarticulate grunt.

The girl took a sip. "This is absolutely amazing, Leliana! What's in it?"

A mysterious smile and a shrug. "Oh, a few things I've found, mixed with quite a lot of Oghren's White Shear."

"He let you have some of that? The girl asked, surprised.

They glanced over at the dwarf, who was snoring, feet dangerously near the fire.

"Of course not," the Orlesian laughed. "I stole it."

"Oh, well done," the girl approved. "Marvelous, really."

Loghain could only agree. The Orlesian gave them an enigmatic smile, and retreated to her side of the campfire. She unwrapped her lute, and began to play softly, humming to herself. She really was very good, though of course an underhanded Orlesian bard had to be. The effeminate Antivan Crow was watching them, eyes wide, muttering to the Orlesian. Loghain could catch only a few words.

"_Epic! It's like an ancient ballad!"_

"_Exactly,"_ agreed the Orlesian.

"Rather grand for camp," Loghain remarked, examining the ornate silver chalice. "More trophies from battles in which you killed people and 'took their stuff?'"

"What else?" the girl nodded, taking a long swallow of the liquor. "I don't own much of anything that isn't loot."

Loghain thought he should warn her what knocking back the Orlesian's concoction that fast would do to a woman of her size and weight. But he was not her father, and it really was very good. He sipped his own drink more slowly, savoring it.

The girl examined her chalice. "This one came from an old chest in the Dead Trenches. Grave goods, of course. Yours she leaned over, and her fingers wrapped over Loghain's on the stem. "Oh! I remember! That was part of a dragon's hoard we found in this amazing Elvish ruin in the Brecilian forest. Pretty, isn't it?"

"Very," he agreed, looking down at the young face. He collected himself. "You said you did not like the idea of Alistair as king 'at first.' You have changed your mind? You believe him to be the stuff of kings, when you said he could not function even as a second-in-command?"

She scowled. "You make me sound like a complete idiot when you put it that way. Once I decided that the Alistair-Anora marriage would be the thing the settle the country down, I had to think of things I liked about it."

"Do share them."

"Well, Alistair might not be right as a King-Regnant, but as King-_Consort_ he might be just the thing."

"Because he's accustomed to doing as a woman tells him?"

"There is that," she allowed, nodding over her drink. "You may not think it's the sort of thing worthy of a Fereldan king, but Alistair, if handled properly, can be very sweet and considerate, and he might well make Anora a very good husband and their children a very good father. Domestic virtues may not loom large in your eyes, but I think a king who's a good husband and father would be a refreshing change for this country."

It was too true for words, so Loghain said nothing.

"You see, if you look at it in a creative way, and pretend Anora is a man—and think of Alistair as a woman—I mean-then Alistair with his nice nature and his good looks and his Theirin blood is a good choice as consort. Anora has to marry somebody!" she told him, waving an arm recklessly. "And while she obviously adores you, I can't think she'd actually be happy being married to someone like you. She's already too much like you herself!"

He frowned into his cup. "You think Anora is like me?"

She rolled her eyes expressively. "Oh, please! _Exactly_ like you except for hair color—and height—gender—age—hmmm—the armor thing. Well—she really is like you, other than not looking like you. Really." She narrowed her eyes. "And you have a better sense of humor. Anora apparently has none at all."

"That's true," he agreed. She never has. And I don't really have a sense of humor, myself. Just a finely-honed sense of irony."

"Good enough."

Sten had been standing watch, and now came back to the site to turn in, with a brief nod, and a quiet 'Kadan."

The girl lifted her cup to him in salute.'Night, Sten."

After the Qunari was out of sight, the girl told Loghain, "Sten is all right. It was hard to figure him out at first. But he's all right. Worth knowing."

Wynne had finally grown too weary to glare at them any longer, and had turned in, much to Loghain's relief. It was Zevran's turn at watch, and he tore himself with visible reluctance from the spectacle unfolding on the other side of the campfire.

They sat, drinking in silence for some time, until the girl roused herself.

"What was I talking about, before Leliana came over? Wait—I know! I was telling you why I didn't kill you."

"Always a topic of interest to me," Loghain admitted.

"I didn't kill you," she pronounced, "because I didn't _want_ to. And because of our duel and that whole thing at the Landsmeet."

"Why is that?"

"First of all, I could see you were really sincere about believing me some sort of Orlesian agent, and that made me feel terrible—you saying that in front of the whole country and people who had known me all my life, and I wanted a chance to make you see you were wrong about me. I hated it that you thought badly of me. And when we were fighting, I kept thinking about how much I'd like to see you killing darkspawn, and what an awful waste it would be if you weren't around to do it. I really like killing darkspawn with you," she told him. "It's such fun. You do it so awfully well."

"Those seem excellent reasons to me," Loghain agreed. "Go on."

"And someone I respect asked me not to. Besides Riordan and Anora."

He frowned. "Who was that?"

"Er-maybe I'll tell you some other time." She was uncomfortable telling him about Ser Cauthrien. Seeing that proud woman kneeling at her feet begging mercy for Loghain had made her feel painful empathy. Except she didn't know anybody she would beg on her knees for, because none of her enemies were particularly merciful. It would mean bruising her knees for nothing.

But Ser Cauthrien! Maybe she loved Loghain! Maybe she harbored a secret, unrequited passion for him! And it would be a rotten thing to do—one woman to another—to blab about it to the man himself. Besides, the most important reason had yet to be touched on-

"Mostly she hesitated, and finished off her drink with a long, long, pull-I couldn't kill you knowing that—"

She paused. A long time. Loghain wondered if she was about to make some sort of embarrassing avowal.

Instead, the girl finally said, "I cheated, you know. At the Landsmeet. Our duel."

"You _cheated_?"

"Uh—yes."

"At the _Landsmeet_?"

"That's right."

"How did you cheat?"

"Well, you see," she said, warming to the subject, "It's like this: I went into that chamber knowing that it was very likely that I would have to fight a duel with you. I'm good. I'm _really_ good, but in that sort of formal duel… Well, so I was going to fight a duel. A duel I knew I could not possibly win, but that I must win."

"You could have named Alistair your champion."

She shook her head sagely. "No good. Alistair _might_ have won She waggled a hand as if balancing Alistair and Loghain against one another.-but it was not a sure thing by any means, and I was not about to leave the survival of Ferelden up to the utter indifference of the Maker. Or Alistair. Besides, if he had won, he would have killed you out of hand, and that was not a desirable outcome. I _promised _Anora—"

"Yes, yes, you said that!"

"—and you winning and killing me was not a desirable outcome either. Sorry."

He glared at her.

"Anyway," she continued hurriedly, "none of my companions would do. If I had a mage fight you, a lot of people would not have accepted the outcome, people feeling about mages as they do, and having a foreigner—or someone perceived as a foreigner—wouldn't do at all. A Qunari? An Orlesian bard? A dwarf? An Antivan crow? None of those were politically acceptable choices, and besides none of them were good enough."

"Not even the Qunari?'

"No. I beat himself—pretty handily—when he challenged my leadership. And after having actually dueled you, I can say that none would have lasted long against you." She smiled slyly. "Of course, that leaves Ranger, a true Fereldan. We'll never know how that would have gone, but I doubt that anybody would have allowed that either. I wonder if there's a precedent for having a Mabari champion…"

"You're drifting away from the subject."

"Yes—cheating." She took a deep breath. "So all of this meant that I must fight the duel myself, so I could control the outcome, and offer you mercy and all that. And I couldn't win. So I poisoned my blades."

There was a heavy silence, which finally ended when Loghain said slowly, "You do realize that I am holding a naked sword at this very moment?"

"Uh—yes she said, a trifle uneasily. "but I absolutely had to do it. So you lost, not to me, but to Concentrated Deathroot Extract. It was supposed to slow you down, just enough that it wouldn't look apparent, but it would give me just the edge I needed to win."

He was still glaring like a furnace.

"And at that," she complained, "it was still a pretty close-run thing. There I was, flat on my back, just a few minutes into our duel, wondering if I'd made a fatal error, and if I had killed myself, and killed all my friends, and doomed Ferelden because the bloody poison wasn't working fast enough. It was one of the few times I've ever been genuinely terrified in battle. I really thought you had me—more than once."

"I thought I had you too," he growled. "but you kept slipping away."

"That was probably the deathroot—slowing you down a bit."

"You conniving little _bitch_!" he exploded. "You've got all of Ferelden thinking you're some sort of pure-hearted—do-gooding—virtuous He sputtered to a stop.

"Well she protested, "I am! Usually."

What she had done to him was beyond mere words. He clutched at the hilt of the Keening Blade, and it seemed quite agreeable to anything he might choose to do in the near future.

"Little cheating, lying, treacherous—"

"But I did it for the Greater Good! I did!" she shot back, eyes wide and soulful, her hand stroking up his arm to the shoulder. "I'm not doing this for any sort of personal gain! Did I ask to be Queen? No! You're alive, and I'm alive, and together we're going to save Ferelden! I think that's a _brilliant _outcome!"

The sword seemed to be speaking to him, urging him to avenge his honor. But her hand on his arm was speaking to him too, telling him something rather different. He held her eyes with his for a long, long time, while he thought it over.

"You realize," he said, finally, "that in honor I have the right to a forfeit. I could claim victory by default. I would be justified in killing you here and now."

Her eyes were very big. "I'd really rather you didn't."

"No doubt. And I grant that it would then be difficult to prove that you deserved it. So I shall simply have to rely on your rather shop-worn _honor_," he snarled, "and choose another forfeit."

"What kind of—forfeit?'

"I don't know." His smile was genuine. For him. Menacing, predatory, and triumphant. "We'll find out."

* * *

_There may be more of Loghain and Maude. We shall see. Please review! It's better than chocolate or really fine cheese. Even Fleur de Val Royaux._


	2. The Best Looking Guys You Ever Killed

**The Keening Blade**  
**Chapter 2: The Best Looking Guys You Ever Killed  
**

"Did you hear that?" The girl called to Leliana, waving her over.

Tainted blood pumped from the neck of the dead genlock. Loghain wiped his blade, shaking his head at the girl's excitement.

"Hear what?" asked the Orlesian, trotting up.

"Loghain's sword made such a pretty sound when he beheaded that genlock. Like singing. It was lovely."

The bard's eyes opened very wide. "Your sword—sings?" she asked Loghain, full of wonder. "How delightful! Oh, I want to hear it!"

Loghain shot the girls an incredulous glare, and tried to escape. The source of the sword's name was no longer a mystery. The Keening Blade did indeed make a strange, high, wailing sound, most especially before striking a death blow. It was creepy as hell.

The girl nearly made a grab for him. Thinking better of it, she darted in front of him, hands tentatively out to catch his notice.

"Please, Loghain! Swing your sword again so Leliana can hear it! It's so nice!"

"Yes, please, Loghain!" Leliana seconded her friend eagerly. "Do it again!"

Loghain grunted in disbelief, and sheathed the blade with an emphatic clank. The girls trailed after him, full of disappointment.

_"Please_, Loghain…"

Blood and brains clotted on his right boot. He dragged the sole of it over some clean grass, studiously ignoring the pleas of the young madwomen. Beyond them, most of the company seemed amused.

"Believe me, my friend," Zevran told Oghren, "if a pair of beautiful women were begging me to 'Do it again!' I would not be so quick to dismiss them!"

_"'Do it again, Loghain!'" _Oghren snorted. "Someday, my lad, we'll have tales to tell."

Loghain glanced over to see the two girls still giving him soulful, pleading looks.

"You want to hear it?' he asked the Warden, brow raised. "Kneel down, and put your head on that stump," he pointed, "and I'll swing this sword for you, all right."

"Oh, yes, ha-ha, very droll," the girl said impatiently. "No, really—couldn't you just—?"

"No, _really_—" Loghain answered, completely straight-faced. "Put your head on that stump and I promise to swing this sword with all the strength I possess."

"You're impossible!" the Orlesian pouted, turning away to loot the corpses.

The Warden glared at him, a minute furrow between her delicately curved brows. The severe expression looked good on her, Loghain thought.

"I could _order _you to swing the sword," she realized.

"—And that would be a frivolous abuse of your authority," Loghain sneered. "You still owe me a forfeit, I believe. Besides, if our journey continues as it has begun, I daresay you'll be hearing my sword again soon enough."

Her brow cleared, and she smiled happily. "That's true! I'll remind Leliana to position herself close to you next time we see darkspawn!" She leaned close to him. "Have you decided on your chosen forfeit yet?"

"I'll remember to let you know."

"Could we move on?" Sten asked through clenched teeth. "This is no place to camp."

"You'll absolutely right," the girl agreed. "There's a lovely place not two miles from here. We might have to move the remains, but I remember there was good water."

"Remains?" Loghain wondered if he wanted to know.

"I killed some people there, I believe. Sometimes it seems to me like I've killed people _everywhere! _I forget if they were bandits or –oh yes, that confidence trickster who sold sham books of magic to the Circle! He was surprisingly capable."

"But you killed him and took his stuff," Loghain guessed.

"Of course I did. That cowl Morrigan wears was his. I think it's very becoming, don't you?" She bent to rip an amulet from the scraggy neck of a hurlock. "Oooh! _Shiny!"_

* * *

Sometimes Loghain wondered how the girl and her companions had managed to feed themselves before he came along.

When they made camp, he changed from armor into shirt, breeches, and light boots, took up his bow, grunted at the Orlesian and walked away, the dog following. The Orlesian had come to understand his grunts nearly as well as the dog, and joined him.

While the Warden liked hunting and seemed to be good at it, she was more valuable trading with the little villages and holdings they passed, speaking earnestly and convincingly, eyes shining, about why they should be sold the best that could be had for nearly nothing. Loghain thought that was more Eleanor than Bryce in her. Eleanor was always aware what was due to the Teyrna of Highever, and could drive a stony hard bargain.

Morrigan held herself above hunting (though not above gathering, thank the Maker). The elf was a city boy, through and through. The Qunari would do well enough, if prey would stand still while he took a big swing at them. Wynne played frail old lady and was a terrible cook, for someone so good at potions and poultices. Oghren claimed that all the leaves made it impossible to see anything. And from what everyone said, Alistair had never brought much to the campfire but an enormous appetite.

It largely came down to Loghain and the dog. The Orlesian was a decent shot, but her woodcraft was sadly lacking. She tagged along after Loghain and Ranger to fetch and carry, and did not seem absolutely unteachable about the rest.

Years ago, in another life, he had kept Maric and Rowan fed when they were on the run after West Hill. His past had returned—with a vengeance—and now he had even more mouths to feed.

"Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to set snares?" he asked the Orlesian.

"Not for animals," she laughed, batting her odious Orlesian lashes at him. "Sorry," she said, abashed at his scowl. "No, I don't know anything about snares. Teach me, please."

He grunted in a somewhat different tone, and spent at least an hour with some twine and a bit of wood and his dagger, showing different ways to set traps for birds and rabbits. He made a few and then had her copy them.

"These would be more effective if we had time to learn the neighborhood better, and scout out the animal trails. Still, with a bit of luck we should catch something. We'll come back here in the morning and see."

"You know so many interesting things, Teyrn Loghain," Leliana complimented him. "How did you learn how to trap animals?"

"My father taught me."

"He must have been very wise in the ways of the forest, yes? Did you teach the Queen?"

He had not. The thought troubled him. Another bit of Gareth Mac Tir, lost.

If Loghain had a grandchild it would be something to pass on-a special inheritance—but his hopes for a grandchild had faded year by year during Anora's marriage to Cailan. Now they seemed remote indeed. It made him sad for his daughter. He had always thought she would be a particularly good mother: affectionate, yes—but sensible and level-headed, too. She had had a good example: Celia had been a wonderful mother. It had been a disappointment to both Celia and Loghain that Anora's birth had been so difficult as to make more children impossible.

If Anora even survived, would she and that idiot bastard manage between them to make a child? Surely he was good for something besides standing behind a woman who did the thinking for him, looking ornamental! They seemed a desperately ill-assorted pair to Loghain, despite the girl's assurances of the boy's essential good nature. Mere good nature didn't get the job done: whether winning wars or begetting children.

Maric had fathered only two children, to Loghain's knowledge: Cailan and Alistair. The bastard's mother was a servant of some sort at Redcliffe Castle, and had died in the birthing. Loghain was certain that Maric had had other women, but Maric had not been forthcoming about that part of his life after Rowan had died. He had told Loghain about Alistair eventually—when the boy had been about a year old, and seemed likely to survive the ailments that took the little ones off early.

Despite all of Cailan's infidelities, no one had come forward claiming to have born him a child. That was good news, of course, because a bastard of Cailan's would have been a complication that very likely would have made Loghain's head explode. He almost laughed aloud at the horror of it. Eamon had wanted Cailan to renounce Anora and seek an annulment on the grounds of barrenness, but Loghain had always suspected that Cailan was shooting unbarbed arrows.

The dog whined softly, claiming his attention. Loghain motioned to the Orlesian to follow and edged through a thicket. There might be marsh ducks nesting nearby…

* * *

He got four and the Orlesian three. He brusquely praised her marksmanship and she flushed proudly. They would eat well tonight. The most mangled of the lot should probably given to the dog outright. What a fine, sensible beast, and endlessly useful.

The girl greeted them as conquering heroes on their return to the camp.

"The hunt was a success, I see! Ducks! Lovely. I winkled some elfberry preserves out of the farmer's wife back at the holding we passed. Some wild honey, too."

Without further comment she took the ducks from Loghain, and sat down on a log, plucking them with admirable efficiency. The Orlesian went off to clean herself. Loghain stood over the girl, watching her strip the birds of feathers as well as any farm girl.

"You've had practice over the past year, I see."

She laughed up at him. "Oh, I learned this long ago. Father-" she paused and smiled to herself, a tender, secret smile that made Loghain ache.

"—Well," she said, "Father insisted that Fergus and I know how to feed ourselves, no matter what happened. You know that he was one of the survivors of White River."

"Of course." Loghain sat down, and began work on one of the ducks.

"He and Howe and our cousin Leonas Bryland. All friends and companions and young noblemen together. They might have escaped the massacre of the defeat, but they nearly starved in the forest. Luckily they came across an old hunter who took pity on them. Father talked often to Fergus and me about how humbling it was to be dependent on someone who in ordinary circumstances would have received no more than a condescending 'My good man.'"

Loghain snorted, picturing it all too clearly. Maric was absolutely useless in the woods, and Rowan, for all her skill at arms, was never any good at hunting.

The girl went on, moving to the next bird. "Mother didn't quite see eye to eye with him on this, but she let him have his way. We had grand hunts, too, of course, and Mother loved those, and we learned to use boar spears and killed deer both with arrows and with swords, and it was quite fun, especially when the servants did the gutting—" She wrinkled her nose charmingly.

"—but Father also made Fergus and me go out with some really good woodsmen—just in a small party, and he had us learn tracking and trail signs and all that—and also what to do with the bag once we were done—rather than simply tossing it to a servant. He said he couldn't bear the thought of us going hungry as he had."

She set her finished, clean duck aside, and went on to the next. "He found it interesting that his friends learned very different lessons from that experience. Cousin Leonas took from it that he had to keep his children safe—so Habren is up in Denerim spending coin like there's no tomorrow. She is such a bitch. I walked right past her in the market. She didn't recognize me, of course, since I wasn't dressed in a way worthy of her notice. She threatened Leliana with sending her off to fight darkspawn for daring to look at her." She grinned impishly, and told Loghain. "I picked her pocket. It was so much fun! I got one of her parcels, too. She was being so nasty and bullying that she never noticed a thing."

"Do I want to know how you learned to pick pockets?" Loghain asked. It disturbed him that she was so proud of the accomplishment. It was one thing to do what you must to survive, and another to glory in petty theft.

"Leliana taught me. It's not hard, especially if you have extra-good reflexes, like me. It's even easier when two of us work together. Leliana bumped against Habren, and while she was distracted, I got her. In her parcel was this gorgeous tiara. I still have it. It's so pretty. Someday, when we are sufficiently victorious, I shall wear it to a celebration."

"Lady Habren may claim it. Even you might find that embarrassing."

"That's a good point! So sensible of you. I'll take it to a goldsmith for some alterations. And it could be reset with diamonds, rather than garnets. I have some nice diamonds. Diamonds go with everything."

Anora had once said something of the sort, he remembered.

"So I learned how to dress a deer, and pluck and clean fowl, and even how to singe the bristles off a boar. And I learned how to cook, too—as you shall see tonight."

He raised a skeptical brow. "You won't object if I keep an eye on you?"

"You think I'll burn your gorgeous ducks? Just you watch! I'm good at all sorts of things. You need to learn to trust me when I say I can do something. My old nursemaid Nan became our head cook when I decided I wasn't going to put up with having a nursemaid anymore—but I missed her, you see, so I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. Anyway, back to my story. So Arl Bryland's answer to his horrible experience was to swaddle his daughter away from reality and any possible danger. Father understood it, but told him he was making a mistake, not preparing Habren to face possible dangers. Cousin Leonas thinks he can protect her from everything. He can't even protect her from pickpockets!" the girl laughed.

Loghain was curious about what she thought Howe had taken from the same event, but was reluctant to ask. He was reluctant even to mention Howe's name to her. He did not have to, for the girl was still pursuing her thought.

"And Howe—well. I think his views changed over time. Nathaniel was certainly brought up as Fergus and I were. He's a brilliant archer and tracker. He—" her smile faded. She murmured, "What _fun _we had in those days."

She took up another duck. The dog came up sniffing. "Well, darling boy," she asked, "do you want dinner now, or do you want yours cooked too, with a lovely honey glaze?"

Ranger barked enthusiastically.

Loghain could not believe it. "Are you going to _cook_ for that dog?"

"Why not?" she wondered. "He likes proper food, too. Anyway—Nathaniel's gone. Sent away to the Free Marches a few years ago. I don't know why. Maybe a difference of opinion, maybe a scandal over a girl. Don't know. Howe made Thomas the heir and tried to wheedle me into a marriage with him. In writing it sounded fine: Arlessa of Amaranthine in due course and next door to my family, and a thumping great marriage settlement for me with a keep and demesne of my very own near the coast in the Feravel Plains. An old castle called Drake's Fall. And our families always so friendly. I know that Father and Mother were willing to turn a blind eye to the fact that Thomas was three years younger and a worthless drunkard. I think that they and Howe had talked and agreed that I would be a "stabilizing influence" on Thomas, which is to say I would do all the work, and hide or soften his failings. Absolutely gruesome."

Loghain had always thought that marriage among the nobility was generally a pretty gruesome business. It certainly explained the paucity of noble children. When Maric had elevated him to the rank of teyrn, he had refused to be matched with any of the insipid females deemed suitable, and had chosen instead the daughter of a cabinet-maker: gentle, lovely Celia…"There's a daughter, too. Pretty girl."

"Yes—Delilah. I always liked her, but we never had much in common. Howe practically locked her away at Vigil's Keep. At least she's a nice person, which Habren certainly is not! There's a puzzler for you: Cousin Leonas is quite a decent fellow, but his daughter is a nasty piece of work. Howe was—well—_Howe_—and Delilah's very sweet. Anyway- I think by the time she and Thomas came along Howe had changed opinions, and moved from "raise your children to be self-sufficient" to 'hire reliable thugs to guard your children from their social inferiors.' Or to guard them from the consequences of their drunken idiocy, in Thomas' case. I couldn't stick it. I just couldn't marry him. He has clammy hands. I tried to let him kiss me once and I thought I was going to puke. So that was no go. I told Mother I found him repulsive. She was more understanding than I expected."

"What about Bryce?"

"Father wondered if I was going to find _anyone_ who suited me, but he didn't force the issue. I got the impression that it wasn't something he had positively set his heart on."

"He was interested in marrying you to Cailan at one time," Loghain told her. That situation had required some brisk handling on Loghain's part, and a quick, quiet marriage between Cailan and Anora only a month after Maric's death.

The girl was amused. "Marry Cailan!" she crowed. "Wouldn't that have been something? I can't see us getting on very well. I didn't like him much when I was a girl."

"You're still a girl," Loghain pointed out.

"Very funny." She made a face at him. "When I was a _young_ girl, then."

"You're _still_ a young girl," Loghain persisted. "I don't believe you're actually of age yet."

"I will be of age in two months, not that it matters a bit. I'm old enough to die in battle or be hanged for treason."

"I wasn't going to hang you." Loghain muttered, staring at the rather forlorn, nearly-plucked bird in his hands.

Her expression brightened. "No? I'm glad. What _were_ you going to do with me if you'd won?"

Why had he said anything? He had always thought he would be facing Alistair or even Eamon if it came to a duel, and he had planned to kill either of those bastards on the spot. He knew that the girl had made some impressive alliances, and had hoped to exert –_pressure_—on her to cooperate with him. It would not have been pretty, and he was not at all sure, knowing her better as he did now, that it could have worked. Or not perfectly, though he suspected she would have done quite a bit to protect her friends. He certainly would not have been as merciful to her as she had been to him. Telling her so, however, was hardly prudent, under the circumstances. Thinking about how he might have behaved caused him some discomfort.

"I hoped to find a way to work with you," he answered evasively, applying himself to his duck. "But tell me about why you weren't longing to marry Cailan. I thought he was every young girl's dream!"

"Not mine!" she maintained. "When I was a young _teenager_, I didn't like Cailan because he was so stuck-up and sort of silly. And because everybody expected me to. I don't like to do things that I'm expected to do."

"So I've noticed."

She was mixing honey and herbs into a sauce, her hand wielding the spoon with practiced ease. The ducks, naked and pink, were lined up neatly on the shield she never used for fighting.

Loghain asked, "You must have had plans of your own. Girlish dreams. Anora certainly did." Of course Anora's girlish dreams mostly concerned being Queen—at least the ones she had confided to her father.

She shrugged. "I was determined that nothing but the deepest love could ever induce me into matrimony." With ruthless efficiency, she spitted the birds over the fire as Loghain handed them to her, and then basted them lavishly with her honey sauce.

After a moment she said, "It sounds silly now, of course. Self-absorbed and ridiculous. And I'm a Grey Warden, so marriage is pretty much out, anyway. If I even live. When Duncan took me from Highever, I became fairly resigned to the probability that I'd die soon. I thought I would probably die at Ostagar, or live a few months more at most. My _girlish dreams_, " she grimaced at Loghain, "are limited at present to killing the Archdemon."

* * *

So, yes: she knew how to cook. Ducks, at least. Loghain focused on keeping watch, far away from the voices at the campfire. It was easier with almost enough food in his belly.

Loghain had been warned about an increase in appetite and possible nightmares by that shifty foreigner, Riordan. The fellow claimed to be from Ferelden, but that was obviously a mere pretext for his snooping. He had put Loghain through the rite, given him a superficial briefing about his new status as a Warden, and then had vanished from Denerim. "Scouting," or so he claimed. The girl had been rather let down by him, Loghain thought. She had evidently been hoping for someone to shoulder some of her burden, and that had not happened.

She had been there, leaning over him, when he awakened. Riordan was behind her, looking like a man enjoying a private joke. The girl, on the other hand, had been gentle with him, as with someone who had suffered a loss. She had whispered, "Welcome to the Grey Wardens," in her lovely voice, eyes hopeful. He had snarled at her, of course, if only because of the filthy taste in his mouth and the ghastly images etched into the backs of his eyelids by the bloodtaint visions. He wondered what the experience had been like for her. Duncan had no doubt held her hand throughout and seductively murmured Grey Warden slogans in her ear. Disgusting pervert.

There was a crackle in the brush in the direction of the camp. Sten arrived to relieve him: grunts were exchanged. Loghain moved through the trees to the beacon of the campfire, hearing chatter and laughter, and the girl's voice intertwined with the other women's, and the protests of the assassin and the dwarf.

"-Bann _Teagan_!" Leliana was declaring. Loghain winced at the way her accent spun the name out to unnatural length. It reminded him unpleasantly of something or someone...

"I am wounded-_wounded_- that you would prefer him!" Zevran was saying, hand on heart.

"I told you," the Warden protested in her turn, "that present company is excepted. Past and present members of our fellowship are not proper subjects for this discussion!"

"So you _do_ find me desirable, O Perilous Beauty."

"It's not _about_ you, elf," Morrigan sneered. "Maude just _told _you that. One would think those grotesque ears of yours are good for nothing but earrings!" She turned away from him, and told the girl, "I would cast a vote for that young nobleman we saw in the dungeons. A fool, but fair of face."

"You think all men are fools, Morrigan," Leliana reminded her.

"All men _are_ fools."

"Let's see," the girl was smiling at her thoughts. "I would have to say that I thought that Paeden fellow at the Pearl was quite fetching."

Loghain stopped in his tracks, and looked at her in astonishment. What in the Maker's holy name was she doing at the _Pearl?_

She saw his expression, and laughed. "We found this broadsheet that seemed to be in support of the Grey Wardens. It was a trap of course, and this fellow Paeden was sent to kill us."

"But you killed him instead. And took his stuff," Loghain guessed.

"We did indeed!" Morrigan declared with satisfaction.

"He was very fetching all the same, and fought very well," the girl defended him. "And I thought that Cristof from the White Falcons was good looking, too. But the most striking man-present company excepted-" she assured her companions "-that I've come across would have to be-Kolgrim in the Frostbacks."

"Eeew!" Morrigan protested, waving her hands as if to drive off a terrible stench.

"_Father _Kolgrim?" Leliana gaped. "The vicious heretic who wanted you to defile the Ashes of Andraste?"

"He was very manly: very compelling," the girl insisted. "He was very impressive with an axe!"

Oghren slapped his knee in triumph, and leered at her in a way that made Loghain long to shorten the dwarf by a head.

Wynne shook her head, mystified. "He was cruel and deranged and summoned a dragon down upon us!"

"Well, I thought him very attractive in his own way!"

"His own horrible, menacing, _insane_ way," Leliana muttered.

Zevran considered a moment. "_Cara mia,_ if I may-" he began. "It is a curious thing, but every man you have mentioned is now dead by your hand."

"So?" the girl challenged. "I don't meet a lot of men who _aren't _trying to kill me. In fact, if _I_ may-three out of my four current male companions have in fact tried to do so!"

"_I _never tried to kill you, boss!" Oghren declared, smugly virtuous.

She leaned over and patted his ham-like hand. "Thank you, Oghren. You're a good friend!"

Leliana was still baffled. "Why can't you like Bann Teagan? He never tried to kill you-oh, wait-yes, he did."

Morrigan sniffed. "Ineffectively." She sneered at Leliana, mocking her accent, _ "Oh, Teeegaaaaahhhhnnnn!"_

Loghain snorted. _That _was where he had heard it. "Arlessa Isolde!" he muttered. His agents were certain that there was something between the Arlessa and her young brother-in-law... Aloud, he asked, "Why in the Maker's name would Teagan try to kill you?"

"Temporary possession by means of blood magic," Wynne replied to him, in a low voice. "He apologized, of course, once he came to his senses."

"I see."

_"Kolgrim!"_ Leliana could not let go of the horror of it. "You only like him because he called you 'Andraste's True Champion.'"

The girl nodded, smiling to herself. "That was pretty neat. And as it happened, he was absolutely right!"

"While I scorn your absurd religion," Morrigan granted, "it _is_ a more impressive title than 'Princess Stabbity-Stab,' as Alistair named Leliana!"

Loghain's head was spinning with the implications of it. He sat down, and listened in a daze while Leliana regaled him with their incredible adventures. He would not have believed any of it, except that white-haired Wynne had been there and calmly confirmed it all. He could not take his eyes from the Warden. The girl's success might actually be due, at least in part, to divine favor. It might explain how a charming girl of such questionable sanity could achieve so much. She had spoken to a spirit who claimed to have known Andraste, she had spoken to a spirit who appeared to be her father, she had fought a phantom double of herself...

Leliana babbled on: her bard's training showing at times; at other times, swept along by her own delight. "But Maude solved the puzzle of the bridge with such speed! She had us move in patterns over the blocks, and then the bridge was complete and we ran across it! It was fun!"

Zevran broke in. "And the final test was the high point, my friend! Our gorgeous leader was called to a test of faith, in which she had to walk through the Fire of Andraste! And to do this, she had to take off all her clothes first, and walk boldly through the flames _completely naked._ That made every danger worthwhile-and totally justifies my change of allegiance, I assure you!"

"It was a spiritual experience, Zevran!" Leliana scolded him. "Do not cheapen it with common earthly thoughts!"

Zevran smirked at Loghain. "It was definitely a spiritual experience. Profoundly _uplifting."_

Leliana instantly backhanded him. Everyone around the campfire burst out laughing. Even the assassin laughed.

Somewhat to his surprise, so did Loghain.

_

* * *

_

_Note: Thank you to all my kind and clever reviewers: Tatiana 1, mille libri, crazy lemon, Lisa, Shining Girl, lost altogether, Kaliyuga, Donroth, Sanityfaerie, Shivvy, ByLanternLight, jenna53, black mage wannabe, sleepyowlet, Zute, Phoenix Fire Lady, Piceron, Eva Galana, Sati James, Amhran Comhrac, and Carnie Heart._

_ I am much inspired by your response. Please feel free to comment, because it's a delightful reward for writing, and some of you have given me very good ideas!  
_


	3. One Scoop or Two?

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 3: One Scoop or Two?**

They trudged along under the bluest of skies. Loghain was still reeling with the revelations of the night before.**  
**

"You looted Andraste's shrine," he said, stunned. "You looted the tomb of the _Prophet?"_

The girl huffed indignantly. "I didn't _loot _it. It sounds so terrible when you say '_looted the tomb of the Prophet.'_ I just took some things I found there. Like this." She pulled a demon-headed necklace in heavy gold from under her shirt. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

"Was that in a locked chest?"

"Of course. But between us, Leliana and I can pick any lock. Have an apple." She plucked two of them from a bag at the qunari's side, and tossed one to Loghain.

Was she mentally and morally damaged to that extent? Contemplating the matter, Loghain bit into his apple, and then asked, '"It did not occur to you that the chest was locked to keep that item at the shrine?"

"No. If it was supposed to stay there, they should have made it harder for me to get. After all, Andraste favors the clever. It was obvious from the bridge puzzle."

Perhaps so. It was an alarming idea. Andraste had been young, beautiful, charismatic, and Fereldan. She had turned all Thedas upside down, destroyed the power of the Tevinter empire, and founded a religion that dominated their world to this day. Maybe she really did like Maude Cousland.

The girl cocked her head, thinking. "Besides, Andraste didn't care. Nobody said anything about smiting me. If Andraste wanted the necklace, she'd have it. The Maker will give her anything she wants. If she wants jewels, He can give her every jewel in Thedas. She's His Bride, after all."

She licked her fingers, considering, and added, "In fact, she probably _wanted _me to have this nice necklace. The Maker knows everything, right? So He knew I was coming, and He must have told her, and maybe she left it there knowing that I could use it." She finished her apple, and tossed the core into the underbrush.

"What possible use have you for a gold demon-headed necklace?"

"It's pretty. If I survive the Blight, I may be called upon to attend an event that requires serious jewelry."

She tugged on his arm, pulling him close, a mischievous light in her eye.

"And the necklace isn't the neatest thing I got there," she whispered. "Let me show you something really amazing." She cast a look about her and then produced a small belt pouch. She opened it, and showed the contents to Loghain. "Look!"

"Dust? No...it's...bloody flaming Andraste!" he nearly shouted.

"Exactly," she beamed. "The Guardian said I could take a pinch of the ashes, but I have these small hands, you see. If I had great big hands like yours, I'd get a lot more, so to make it fair I didn't just take a pinch. More like a—scoop, I suppose."

He stared at her, as close to horror as he had come in many a year.

She shrugged. "Maybe more like two scoops. Don't look at me like that. I needed a pinch of her ashes to cure Arl Eamon, and so I put that pinch in another pouch. I kept this, because You Never Know."

He was still staring.

Big brown eyes earnest, she said, "So if I ever look seriously near death, you should give me some of this. And I'll do the same for you."

There seemed little he could say about that. They marched side by side, listening to the hum of conversation behind them. Ahead, Zevran was walking point. The roads signs directed them through the deceased Rendon Howe's arling of Amaranthine. Annoyed at the thought of Howe, Loghain expressed his displeasure about their current itinerary.

"Remind me again why you insisted we take the _North _Road to go to Redcliffe," he growled.

"Because it's faster," Maude assured him brightly. "Really. I've gone back and forth both ways. The West Road is a mess. This is faster, as long as we can get a boat at the Lake Calenhad docks to take us to Redcliffe. Coming this way can take up to four days off the journey."

"_If_ we can get a boat, and _if _the wind is in our favor," Loghain muttered. "Bloody optimist."

"I heard that!" Unfazed, she added, in a low voice, "and there are other reasons. I have this map…"

His attention was caught at once. She pulled a frayed and folded piece of linen from under her armor, and opened it carefully.

"I met a trader on the road. Levi Dryden was his name. He wanted me to check out some old family history for him. He said that Duncan had promised to look into it, since it involved the Wardens." She made a face. "Anyway, Duncan was busy, and then he was dead, so this fellow tracked me down."

"Let me see," Loghain said, reaching for the map. She sighed, but handed it over, and Loghain studied it, frowning. It took some time for the lines and squiggles to make any sense to him. Yes—that was the North Road, and the place where the Coast Road turned south to join it. This was a map of part of the arling of Amaranthine…

"Soldier's Peak?" he read, puzzled. "I don't think I know…" Wait. He did. Some story that Cailan had blathered on about. The old Warden fortress near the coast, up in the mountains between Highever and Amaranthine. A hundred Wardens had held it for a year against the entire royal army. "The Wardens were evicted when the order was banished from Ferelden back in the time King Arland. Wasn't the fortress destroyed?"

"Levi said not. It was very well defended, and see—you have to go through tunnels—originally just caves—to get to it. Levi explored them and marked out the trail. Other side," she gestured. Loghain turned the map over, and studied the faded ink. "He made it through and saw the fortress. He said it looked intact, but that it gave him the creeps. He didn't even step through the gate. Ran back and wanted Duncan to go there. Of course," she added scornfully. "It didn't take much to give poor old Levi the creeps. I think _I _gave Levi the creeps. He hung about for a day or two, saying he'd go up there with me, but he got very nervous at some of the things that happened—we ran into some spiders, and then darkspawn, and then—well, anyhow, he had enough and to spare. He gave me the map, and then-look down there—gave me an address in Kirkwall where I could write him if I ever found out anything. He told me he wished me all success in my dealings with the Blight, but that he and his family were off to the Free Marches. And I had other things to do at the time, so I put it off."

"Dryden?" Loghain tried to remember. _Cailan, going on and on and on…_

He remembered. "Sophia Dryden was the Warden Commander. The Arlessa of Denerim who was forced to join the Wardens and lost her title. This sniveling merchant was her descendant?"

"So he said. I don't think he really had any hopes of reclaiming the arling of Denerim, of course. He said he just wanted to clear her name of the charge of treason. Why, I don't know, unless he really did think he'd get some sort of compensation out of it. Anyway, I want to go there and see if the fortress still stands. Someday we may want a roof over our heads. With Alistair being king and all, I don't think we'll be welcome in the Palace compound on a permanent basis. It would neat to have a castle of our own. We'll have time to pop in and have a look and then bustle off to the Lake and get a boat, and then we'll still get to Redcliffe before we would have if we went by the West Road."

"Another thing—" Loghain hissed at her. "Why the bloody hell are we going to _Redcliffe?"_

She regarded him warily. "Because that's where the armies are mustering?" she ventured.

He took a deep breath, and looked up at the indifferent heavens. "Why are the armies mustering in _Redcliffe?"_ The dog trotted up by him, and gave him a sympathetic whine. He rubbed the beast's ears absently. "We are mustering at Redcliffe because that's Eamon's little realm and he wants to glory in his own importance! Redcliffe would never be the darkspawns' prime target_._ They're going to move up the Imperial Highway and then advance on the West Road to Denerim. Nothing else makes any sense at all. The darkspawn attack _cities._ Even I know enough history to know that. We should be mustering at the falls of the Drakon River north of South Reach."

The girl looked very sheepish. "You may be right," she admitted.

"Of course I'm right. I knew it! The moment I'm not in charge, everything bloody falls apart and the bloody army marches in the bloody wrong direction!" He kicked a defenseless rock. "Bloody useless Eamon."

The girl patted his arm. "He's a fucking dick," she consoled him. "I'm no general, I know that. Over the past year or so I've become a pretty good captain, and even a bit of a sergeant, which is often more important—" she laughed at Loghain's sour grunt of agreement. "But I admit I'm no general, and when Anora made that big show of handing over the army to me—I knew it was a show and nothing more. I'm a figurehead. I get it. So the army fell to Eamon by default, because Alistair certainly wasn't going to take charge."

Loghain struggled not to hit out at something—anything—and especially the girl. "This isn't just some court sinecure we're talking about! Eamon has never commanded an army in battle—ever! He was in the Free Marches during the whole bloody rebellion! He doesn't bloody know what he's doing, but thinks he does because he's the inbred spawn of generations of Ferelden nobility!"

"Hey!" The girl gave him a shove. "Inbred spawn right here! Show some respect!"

He elbowed her back. Their armor clanged at the contact. Loghain was transported to another time and another march, and the memory of Rowan teasing him…

He scowled, rejecting the comparison. Rowan had been a hero. Rowan had been a patriot. Rowan had been _sane._

The marsh witch was watching them, a curious, speculative look in her yellow eyes. He shot her a glare, and she shot back a small, smug smile. At least she was smiling. Wynne was looking ominous. Loghain wondered if she would rather fry him with lightning or roast him with fire. Lucky for him she was a healer, not a fighter.

"Anyway," Maude said, pointing at the map. "The North Road Inn is just there where the roads branch. We can stop there for a meal, and then head up to the Peak." She lowered her voice again. "Maybe we shouldn't take everybody. There might be secret Warden stuff there."

He frowned. "Just the two of us, then?"

"The _three_ of us!" the girl corrected him indignantly. "Ranger counts as a Warden!"

The dog barked instant agreement.

"-And maybe Morrigan, too, because a mage is always useful, and Morrigan knows all sorts of secret stuff already and would never tell anybody because she doesn't like to share information."

"All right, the _four _of us," Loghain indulged her. A mysterious map-tunnels-ancient Ferelden history-"secret Warden stuff." Of course the girl couldn't resist. It was a good thing she would have him along when her fantasies collided with reality. He hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed.

* * *

Loghain had no idea how many times in his life he had stopped at the North Road Inn. The innkeeper knew him, of course, after a puzzled moment during which the unfortunate man tried to fit the familiar face into the new context of heavily armed ruffians, assassins, mages, an enormous wardog, and a pretty young noblewoman. Then there was recognition, absolute terror, and an attempt at a cringing welcome.

"No titles, no ceremony," Loghain interrupted him brusquely. "We want your private room."

"Of course, of course, my lord-I mean-of course. This way..."

"Oooh!" The girl beside him exclaimed. "I like the private room, too. It has those windows with green bottle glass!"

The innkeeper looked again, and evidently recognized her, too. The professional smile was anguished. He looked back forth between her and Loghain. Clearly, seeing them together under his roof might be described as "worst fears realized."

They clomped into the cozy paneled room, stripping off gauntlets and helmets, dropping weapons and equipment with sighs, grunts, and metallic clatter. A frightened young woman whom Loghain believed to be the innkeeper's daughter hurried in with a pitcher of ale and a tray of tankards. A tomcat lazing by the fire was instantly alert, and saw Ranger trotting toward him, teeth bared in his usual terrifying doggy grin. He fled in a blur of ginger.

"Something to eat, sers?" asked the landlord, nervously jovial. "We've got mutton pies, mutton pasties, mutton chops, mutton hash, mutton stew, mutton soup, mutton sausages, mutton and smoked cheese sandwiches, mutton kidneys in broth, and roast mutton."

"I_ detest _mutton," Morrigan sneered. The landlord trembled.

Loghain rolled his eyes. _So it begins…_

"You could have the mutton and cheese sandwiches," suggested Maude. "They probably don't have much mutton in them."

"I don't want _any_ mutton," declared Morrigan, her brow growing stormy.

"I agree," said Leliana. "So heavy and unhealthy. I would like a salad of young greens and asparagus with aged vinegar—no oil—and two whole-grain biscuits." She took out her daggers, juggling them for the edification of Oghren and Zevran.

The innkeeper's wife emerged from the kitchen and stood in the doorway, staring at Leliana in disbelief.

"Give the lady what she wants," the innkeeper ordered the hapless woman.

"Well!" Morrigan considered. "I want a salad, too, but _I_ want it with cubes of smoked cheese and a dressing of aged vinegar _and_ oil. And I want white flour biscuits with _butter_," she added, tossing her head defiantly.

Loghain decided that the next time they ate in a tavern, he would order for everyone ahead of time. He looked around for the elf assassin. Gone, presumably to molest the innkeeper's daughter.

"I don't want to make trouble," Wynne said in a gentle, soothing voice. "All I want are two fresh, unfertilized brown eggs, soft-boiled for the length of time it takes to say the first three verses of the Havard Canticle, and four arrowroot rusks. And a fresh pot of honeygrass tea. Highever honeygrass, not White River, which is very inferior."

"Hear, hear!" Maude agreed loyally. "Everything's inferior to Highever!"

"Food is irrelevant in the greater scheme of things," declared Sten, "but bring three mutton chops and a matched pair of kidneys to support me whilst I meditate upon the Qun."

Loghain told the innkeeper, "If you already have the pasties ready, I could take two of them."

"I could take three," Oghren said, foam from the ale turning his moustache white. "Maybe some sausages, too."

Maude shook her head. "Get a plate of the stew," she whispered to the dwarf. "Father always said never to order sausages in a place where you don't have the power to execute the cook."

Loghain wondered if he could pretend he had never met any of these awful people before, and they were sitting at the same table in a private room by some fantastic coincidence.

Oghren beamed agreeably. "Three pasties and a plate of stew. Aye, that sounds fine," he rumbled.

"I'll have some of the stew, too." Maude smiled at the innkeeper winningly. "And a large bowl of the stew for my mabari, as well." She rapped Loghain on his metal shoulder. "Oh!" She pointed through the doorway to the common room. "Look at the darling little mutton pies! I want some of those," she told him, "and so do you."

"Bring the whole platter," Loghain told the innkeeper. They did look rather good.

"You need to eat more," the girl said. "It takes lots of fuel to stoke our extra-special Grey Warden powers."

"Is that what Duncan told you? I just thought Grey Wardens were greedy pigs."

"Well, some are," she agreed. "But we really do need lots of food. And I am not a _pig,"_ she declared. "You don't see me, face down in the trough, do you? Some of us handle our natural Grey Warden needs better than others." She asked the innkeeper, "You used to have a wonderful shepherd's pie. Didn't your cook make any today?"

The innkeeper gazed carefully at the ceiling. "Had to take shepherd's pie off the menu, Warden. Some _young lady_ came through a while back and made some sort of joke about shepherd's pie made with real shepherds. Put some folks off, that did."

"Oh!" The girl said, repressing a grin. She and Leliana exchanged mischievous looks. "Sorry. It was really wonderful. You might call it something else. Like-"

"Warden's Pie!" Leliana suggested. "Made with real Wardens!"

Uproarious laughter. Loghain dismissed the innkeeper with a jerk of his head. The grateful man vanished.

Plans were made over the heavily-laden table. They would get rooms here. The exploring party would depart after the meal and probably be gone at least overnight. Meanwhile, the others were to rest (and _bathe,_ the dwarf was instructed), because they would have to travel hard and fast to make up the time. Loghain overheard the girl talking Wynne around, explaining how her presence here was absolutely essential to keeping the rest of the party out of trouble. Then Leliana was appeased by the girl's concerns over a slight cough she had heard, and how Leliana must protect her health and her voice.

Loghain found the innkeeper, gave him some gold to pay for his trouble, and then asked what he knew about Soldier's Peak. He was rewarded with a blank look in response.

"Soldier's Peak, my lord?" The man was sweating, desperate to come up with some sort of satisfactory answer.

"Maybe his lordship means the Lost Peak?" the man's wife whispered. She was not quite looking at Loghain, but snatching short little glances at about the level of his hands. "Where the old-time Wardens made their stand."'

"That's it exactly," Loghain told the blushing woman. "What do you know?"

"Not much, my lord," she stammered. "Nought but ghosts and demons up there, they say. No one goes there."

Maude appeared, finishing her tankard. "Well," she said blithely, "If no one goes there, how do they _know _there are ghosts and demons? Anyway, _we're_ going there." She reached for her money pouch.

"I've already paid the man," Loghain told her shortly. "Let's go."

"Really? You paid?" The girl looked at him in wonder. "You didn't have to do that. I always pay for everything."

"I paid this time. Consider it a gift."

"You bought me lunch?" The girl seemed thrilled. "That's so nice of you! Nobody ever gives me anything, except for Alistair giving me a rose once, but that wasn't his anyway, and it didn't cost him anything. Thank you so much!"

"Yes...well...let's get on with it."

"I'll get Morrigan," she strode back into the private room calling, "Ranger! Leave that cat alone-oh, for Maker's sake!"

The innkeeper's wife stifled a sob in her apron. Loghain grimaced, and turned away. He nearly ran into Morrigan, who was busily putting her gear together.

"There may be snow up in the mountains," he told the witch. "Do you have a cloak?"

She appeared faintly surprised. "I have. You need not fear me catching cold."

He ignored her, and looked for the Warden. She was talking nonsense to her dog, as usual. Under her merry voice, he could hear the innkeeper and his wife arguing in fierce whispers in the common room.

"-_-Caught him up with her folderol and her soft ways, I'll warrant. Like a spider in her web, luring him up to the Lost Peak!"_

_"None of our business, woman. Let your betters mind themselves."_

_"And what's become of the young man she had with her last time she come through? Vanished, I'll be bound! She were finished with him, and he were taken off, not to be heard of ever again."_

_"That's enough!"_

_"We ought to warn him, that's what we ought to do!"_

_"Get back to the-"_

Loghain stepped back into the common room and stared them down, a grim smile touching his lips.

"-kitchen?" the innkeeper finished, sagging at the knees.

* * *

If the girl had no other virtue, Loghain would have respected her for her ability to read a map. Thousands couldn't, he had found. With the witch to the light the way, the girl to read the map, and Loghain to watch for danger, they found the entrance to the system of twisting tunnels under the Coast Range, and moved quickly though them.

Gradually, the trail ahead grew lighter, and they emerged into bright and chilly sunlight, on a wide snowy path that led upward on a steep grade. Granite slopes funneled them around a corner, and within a few steps, the fortress of Soldier's Peak was revealed.

They stopped. Loghain was silent. The girl was in shock.

"Look at the size of it!" she breathed. Then she flashed Loghain a radiant smile. "We own the most gorgeous castle in all Ferelden!"

Morrigan shrugged. "'Tis large enough, certainly, to house the current Wardens."

It was an astonishing structure, no doubt about it. The ancient builders had made good use of the native stone, and towers and battlements soared high above the neighboring mountaintops. And it was in good condition, at least on the outside. The narrow tunnel entry made it formidably defensible. Before them was a curtain wall and a portcullis, which led into a broad courtyard. Loghain admitted to himself that it was indeed impressive. He had not expected anything at all like this.

"It was built by Commander Asturian in the Glory Age, three hundred years before King Calenhad united Ferelden," the girl told him. "All the northern teyrns contributed to it, because Asturian arrived just after the end of the Second Blight, when the Archdemon Zazikel was killed, and it was fresh in their minds. Well, done, Asturian!" she enthused. "I think it has a lot of potential, don't you? Once we clear out the remains, anyway."

* * *

_Note-Thanks to my reviewers: Piceron, sleepyowlet, Nithu, Marching Madly Onward, Sarah1281, Eva Galana, Carnie Heart, mille libri, Jewel Song, Amhran Comhrac, Alpha Cucumber, gaj620, Beriathwen, Guile, By Lantern Light, Sati James, Almaceti, Phoenix Fire Lady, Jenna53, Linette23, Aoihand, OfCakeandIceCream, Reyavie, IVIaedhros, and mutive. What wonderful insights you have!_

_Please review! It's more than half the fun for me._

_I must give credit to Zyanic's zany story The Wrong Witch, for the idea of Cousland snatching up more than a mere pinch of the Ashes. My Maude, however is not her psycho!Elissa. I recommend the story, and I especially direct you to Chapter 26, in which psycho!Elissa says everything I ever wanted to say to Cauthrien, Howe, and Loghain on returning to Denerim._

_Yes-I am a great fan of the screwball comedies of the 30's and 40's. Maude owes a great deal to Katharine Hepburn in Bringing Up Baby, Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve, Irene Dunne in The Awful Truth, Claudette Colbert in It Happened One Night, and most especially, Carole Lombard in My Man Godfrey._

_Thank you to dear old Monty Python, as well.  
_


	4. Gorgeous once I wipe off the demon slime

**The Keening Blade **

**Chapter 4: It's Gorgeous Once You Wipe Off the Demon Slime**

An imposing castle, yes: but something was wrong with Soldier's Peak. An unnatural brightness sparkled in the frosty air.

Morrigan frowned, lifting her head to sniff like the wolf she sometimes was. "Be cautious," she told Loghain. "The Veil has been torn in this place. There is nothing here to separate us from the demons of the Fade."

"Fucking demons," Maude sighed.

The portcullis loomed overhead. Loghain could hardly believe that a fortress abandoned for more than two hundred years could look like this. They stepped into the courtyard, and the air around them made a sucking noise.

Loghain winced at the pain in his ears, and suddenly before them were soldiers: an angry nobleman in silverite plate talking to a man at arms. Other soldiers milled about them, shouting and waving their weapons. None of them noticed the intruders among them. Loghain reached out to touch the man at arms, and his hand passed through the being without hindrance. A vision. An extraordinarily realistic one.

_"-We starve them out, then!"_ the nobleman snarled.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the vision was gone, and they were alone on the Peak. But not for long.

"Oh, no!" Maude complained. "Walking dead! I hate these guys!"

Skeletal enemies lunged at them, grinning. Loghain bashed at them with the pommel of the Keening Blade. The girl beheaded one, and the skull spun and cracked against Loghain's shield. Morrigan froze them in place. One by one they were hacked to pieces and destroyed.

"More of them!" Morrigan shouted, pointing behind them to a slope near one of the towers. One of the dead was casting spells. Ranger bayed at the attackers, and barreled toward them, knocking them flying. There were archers among them. Loghain heard a curious clang, and looked over to see the girl knocking an arrow aside with her sword and then another with her dagger. Impressive reflexes, but he already knew that.

Within a few moments, these foes too were scattered bones and dust. The girl bent over the creatures, no doubt to see if two hundred year old skeletons would have possessions of value.

"Loghain! Look at what they're wearing!"

Tattered and stained though they were, Loghain recognized the garments. He had seen them long ago, when the order was permitted to return to Ferelden, and that band of Orlesian troublemakers had descended on Denerim, dragging Maric off to an adventure that had nearly cost Ferelden its king.

"Grey Warden tunics," he told her. "Duncan did not insist his men wear them."

"We have a uniform?" The girl was delighted. "I have _got_ to have one of these! Only not all rotten and disgusting, of course. Ooo! I like the griffon thing on it!"

"You would," he muttered.

The broad steps leading to the Keep were in fine condition. No invading plants had broken the stones apart. The whole place seemed curiously free of weeds and vermin. Loghain put his shoulder to the wide and heavy doors and pushed them open. Light filtered down through grimy windows to reveal a high beamed hall.

And another vision. Maude came to Loghain's side, her dark eyes enormous, as she watched the story unfold before them.

The misty figures were Wardens. One, a mage named Avernus, was reporting low morale to a slender woman in splendid plate armor, whom he called _"Sophia."_

Sophia Dryden, then: last Warden Commander in Ferelden before the return of the order twenty years ago. The edges of the woman were blurred, but her voice was clear and powerful.

_"Men, I won't lie to you. The situation is grim: our forces outnumbered, our bellies empty, and our hearts are sagging. But we are **Wardens!** Darkspawn **flee **when they hear our horns. Archdemons **die **when they taste our blades. So are we to bend knee to a mere human despot? No! I, for one, will never give up! I, for one will never surrender, just to dance on Arland's gallows..."_

Despite the vague images and the gulf of centuries, Loghain felt something of the woman's burning spirit. He glanced at the girl. Her eyes were shining. Clearly, she found Sophia Dryden inspiring. Cut from the same cloth, of course, bloody aggravating women. The vision ended, and they moved on to other rooms and the demons in them.

More visions: what had happened was becoming clearer. Some of Sophia's aristocratic friends had rebelled against King Arland, who appeared to have been a murdering swine. They begged her for help, and the Wardens had been caught up in the war, and destroyed by it. It had ended in this very place over two hundred years ago, as the Wardens fought the king's men from room to room. Skeletons littered the dusty floors. The remains of hasty fortifications lay splintered about. The old archive of the Wardens, half burned, was in tantalizing reach. Who knew what secrets were here?

They climbed a flight of stairs, and found themselves in a little sitting room, More steps took them up to the next floor proper, a wide expanse containing the remains of a large and handsome dining table. As they moved further into the chamber, more demons arose to contest them. Another vision appeared: Sophia and her mage lieutenant Avernus, raising demons to fight the enemy—demons which turned on the defenders as well. The Veil was indeed torn, and the demons had been the only real victors at Soldier's Peak.

Another flight of stairs took them higher into the castle, to a chapel and to more of the walking dead.

"Walking dead and raspberry jam?" Maude complained. "There's raspberry jam on the votive candles! What kind of chapel is smeared with raspberry jam?"

"What kind of chapel is full of mindless zombies?" Loghain wondered, laying another one low.

"All chapels," Morrigan shot back. "And that looks like blood to me. How do you know it's raspberry jam?"

"I tasted it," the girl replied loftily, finishing off the last of the monsters. "It's not blood, it's raspberry jam. I checked."

Kicking a skeleton aside, Loghain snarled at her. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to put strange red substances in your mouth?" He thought again. "Or _any_ strange substances?"

"I know about mushrooms," she replied. "I'm not an idiot, you know."

"Well, here's a new rule," he snapped at her. "Loghain's New Rule. Don't go putting _anything_ in your mouth unless you're absolutely certain you know what it is. And that it's harmless. Do you think you can remember that?"

The girl rolled her eyes at Morrigan. "I would have starved whenever Alistair cooked, then. No one could ever figure out what he made. Even after tasting it."

There was a door to the left. The girl pushed it open, peered inside, and then backed away, clearly alarmed. Loghain was so surprised at such a reaction that he pushed in front of her.

A large room: a fire burning cheerfully on a filthy hearth, crumbling bookshelves, a wide and dusty table littered with maps and books, and behind it...

The woman in splendid armor had her back to them. Her hair was far shorter than the girl's, but the same bright brown. Loghain approached, the girl just behind and to his side, the dog and the witch close at hand. Morrigan's eyes narrowed.

Then the woman in armor turned to them, and Loghain saw that whatever it had been, it was a woman no more. It was possible to recognize the remains of Sophia Dryden in that rotting face, but the spirit that had once dwelt there had been—replaced.

"Come no farther, Warden!" the demon called to Loghain in an eerie, low-pitched voice. It was a voice that had never issued from a living human throat—certainly never a woman's. "This one would speak to you."

Ranger lowered his head and growled.

The demon snarled back. "Get that annoyance away from me!"

Loghain put his hand on Ranger's head to restrain him, and studied the monster. It might have information.

"Why should I speak with you?"

The demon laughed, a horrible sound.

"Because the Peak is mine! I am the Dryden. Sophia. Commander. All of those things."

"You shouldn't talk to it!" Maude burst out. "It's just an ugly, stupid demon who stole a brave woman's body! Demons never have anything worthwhile to say, and they trap you in the Fade and try to bore you to death!"

"Your fledgling should mind its place!" the demon raged at Loghain. "It should be meek, subservient, quiet…" The demon turned contemptuously from Maude and spoke again to Loghain. "This one would propose a deal."

"Are you talking to Loghain?" Maude asked, her silvery voice trembling with menace. "Are you talking to Loghain? Are you talking to _Loghain_ instead of me? Do you think I'm some sort of _flunky_, you putrid body-thief?" She exploded. "I haven't been fighting the length and breadth of Ferelden for a year so some third-rate demon can treat me like the hired help!"

With that, she stuck her dagger in the blackened throat and twisted. The demon appeared entirely surprised, and attempted a belated resistance. Loghain was impressed with the overpowering ferocity of the girl's attack. The demon was thrown backwards onto the desk, and the girl set to work beheading it.

"Who owns the Peak now?' she screamed, sawing at the rotten neck while the creature squawked and flopped. The dog worried the mottled wrist until the sword in it fell clanging to the stone floor.

"Well? _Who owns the Peak?_ Call me a _fledging?_ Tell me to be _meek?_ Fuck you!"

More walking dead rose from the floor, shambling toward them. Loghain decided the girl and her dog had the Demon Sophia situation well in hand, and he and Morrigan set about destroying the other dangers. It took only a few minutes. He stood back, listening to the girl rant at rotting, scattered body parts.

"Holy Andraste, I hate shit like you! Just bustle on back through the Veil and hide, because I've never met a demon I couldn't wipe the floor with! And get a facial while you're at it, because you look even more like crap than you did before I killed you!"

Loghain wondered if he should intervene. The girl appeared completely unhinged. Morrigan reached out a restraining hand.

"I have seen her thus only once before. With the man Howe." Morrigan gave him a cold smile. "Of course, he had just taunted Maude with how he killed her mother. A fool who suffered a fool's end."

The echoing silence of battle's aftermath filled the room. The girl had slid down the side of the stone table, and was now sitting on the floor, eyes closed. The dog trotted over whining, and licked her face.

She opened her eyes. Dreamily, she murmured, "Loghain…"

"I think it's dead," Loghain told her. "But chop off a few more bits if it amuses you."

"No, I feel better now," she assured him. She studied the festering remains before her. "That armor is absolutely fabulous."

"We don't have time for this…"

"Not now, but later," she said, still staring at it. "It's absolutely fabulous, and it's just my size."

"It is disgusting," Morrigan sneered.

"It is not," the girl huffed. "It has griffons on it, and blue enamel. It'll be gorgeous, once I've wiped off the demon slime. I like it. It's mine now. Don't let me forget to come back and get it. It's absolutely fabulous, and I shall look absolutely fabulous in it."

Her unleashed wrath had left her a little unsteady on her feet. She leaned against Loghain and smiled up at him blissfully. "Let go see the rest of our new home."

A door led to a high bridge connecting the Keep to a freestanding tower. A few more walking dead opposed them momentarily. Stepping cautiously through the door to the tower, Loghain could feel that something was different here. This place gave the distinct impression of being _inhabited._

Another room was filled with books and notes and potions bottles. Loghain stopped to have a look, but the girl was pressing on to yet another door. She reached out for the knob, and quite suddenly her face lit with delight.

"There's a Warden in the next room!" She turned to Loghain, pink with excitement. "Know how you were told we can sense darkspawn? We can sense each other, too! There's a Warden in there! Maybe he needs help!"

So of course she had to run right through the door and up the stairs inside. There was nothing to be done but run after her.

A vast and lofty space. Cold air filled the room, let in through a large broken window high in the far wall. A human voice, cracked with age, called out:

"I hear you! Don't disrupt my concentration."

Nearly bald, with eyebrows white with age, but still tall and straight, a mage confronted them from the far end of the room, up on a dais filled with flasks and measuring devices.

He studied the four intruders before him, and spoke to Loghain.

"Even now the demons seek to replenish their numbers. Are you to thank for this welcome if temporary imbalance?"

"It's the Warden mage! He's alive!" Maude said excitedly, recognizing him in spite of the additional years. "You're Avernus, aren't you? This is amazing?"

"I am indeed Avernus," the mage replied. "And I am alive, though only just. My magic can do only so much. Over the past year I have been plagued with dreams and visions. My end cannot be far off."

"You're not dying," the girl informed Avernus, very earnestly. "That must be the Blight you're dreaming about. We dream about it, too."

Avernus's surprise was manifest. "Blight? There is a Blight in Thedas?

"Right here in Ferelden," the girl assured him. "I've even dreamed of the Archdemon. The darkspawn have been swarming up from the south for months."

"I see." Avernus seemed absolutely taken aback. He turned to Loghain, and spoke seriously. "You have come to reclaim the peak for the Wardens, of course. An admirable goal. Will they be arriving soon? We have much to do!"

Loghain blew out a breath. Maude shrugged, and told the old mage the truth.

"At the moment, we represent the largest gathering of Wardens in Ferelden. Most of the Fereldan Wardens were wiped out in the first big battle against the darkspawn. There are only the four of us, and an Orlesian named Riordan who came to help us—yes, he _did_, Loghain—and Alistair, but Alistair doesn't want to be a warden if Loghain's a warden, so he's back in Denerim, saying he's resigned—"

Avernus was deeply shocked. "And you did not slay him?"

"No. He's got to be king. I know about the Warden thing, but we've sort of run out of candidates. So here we have Loghain and you and me and Ranger, and that's that."

"But your charming companion is not a warden. Not that I can sense, anyway."

Loghain interpreted. "The mage's name is Morrigan, and as you say, she is not a warden. Maude was referring to her dog."

Ranger grinned doggily, and wagged his stubby tail.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Charmed to make your acquaintance."

"Five wardens—and a dog?" Avernus was thunderstruck. "And a Blight in Ferelden?"

Maude scowled. "_Six_ wardens and a Blight, yes. Without you there are just five, so I'm awfully glad to meet you. We have a party of companions who travel with us, and they'll be glad to meet you, too. We'd better set out at first light and join them."

"Leave the Peak?"

"Of course." Maude regarded him blankly. "There's a Blight. With darkspawn. You're a Warden. You need to come with us and kill darkspawn. Of course, we'd like to make Soldier's Peak safe, too, since we're going to need to sleep here tonight."

"That might be an improvement," Loghain agreed.

The old mage was still thinking over the girl's extraordinary proposal. "Leave the Peak? After all this time? And yet—why not?" he muttered to himself. "Perhaps it is for this that I have lived all these years!"

He pulled himself straight, and spoke again. To Loghain, of course, who enjoyed the girl's manifest annoyance.

"Come!" said the old mage. "We must cut the demons off forever."

They began walking back to the keep. Loghain asked, "What do we need to do?"

"I shall unravel the summoning circles I made so long ago. While I do so, waves of demons will come through the Veil. You must dispatch them."

"Wait!" Maude cried. "I want to know what happened here? The battle—the demons you summoned—were you fighting the king?"

"So much for our grand rebellion," sighed the old mage. "It seemed so pressing then, but the kingdom lives on and has forgotten us. Arland ruled with fear and poison. Sophia's friends begged for her help, so we met with Teyrn Cousland. With him on our side we had a chance of success."

"Cousland!" Maude beamed. "That's my family! We're always rebelling against something or other."

Avernus caught Loghain's eye, and then gave the girl a little ironic smile.

"I last saw Teyrn Cousland's decapitated head on their meeting table with an apple in his mouth. You lost many family members that day. Arland's butchers slaughtered enough to make them-pliable. And that was the end of that. The rest you know. " He considered her. "It is uncommon for someone from the great noble families to become a warden."

" I'm not the only one. Loghain here used to be Teyrn of Gwaren."

"You are a member of the Voric family? I know them."

"No." Loghain answered. "They were all killed during the Orlesian occupation."

Avernus was quite still, and then asked, "The Orlesian _occupation_? The Orlesians—_invaded_ us?"

Maude sighed deeply, and raised her brows at Morrigan. "Now we'll be here all night."

"Yes," Loghain told him, outraged that any Fereldan might not know the story of their vile and iniquitous neighbors. "The filthy Orlesians invaded and ruled Ferelden for nearly a century. Half of us were slaughtered and the rest treated like dogs."

Ranger barked disagreement.

"—worse than dogs," Loghain corrected himself. "Some of the nobles turned Orlesian bootlickers and murdered the rightful queen. We drove the bastards out, but they're still sniffing at us, looking for weakness."

"Infamous!" Avernus responded, very indignant. "I most deeply regret that I did not know."

"Actually, it was Loghain who drove the Orlesians out," Maude told Avernus, very proud of her companion. "That's why the King made him Teyrn of Gwaren."

"But he's a warden now?"

"Yes—I dueled him and he lost, and he had to join the Wardens."

Avernus raised his brows and regarded Loghain with evident skepticism.

"She cheated," Loghain said bitterly.

Triumphant, the girl grinned and tapped her chest. "Warden! _'Whatever means necessary,'_ after all! I knew we needed Loghain."

"This self-congratulation is all very well," Morrigan remarked, "but ought we not be slaying demons?"

Avernus nodded. "True. The young lady speaks good sense. We should heed her advice."

Wave after wave indeed: rage demons, hunger demons, ash wraiths. None of them were individually formidable, but there were so _many_ of them. Even Maude was looking harassed by the end, which produced at last a voluptuous female spirit, clothed in what appeared to be gold chains strategically located. She whimpered orgasmically as she died. Loghain found himself staring at her impressive figure, and wondered if he was completely depraved.

"A desire demon," the girl told him. "Haven't you ever seen one of those? I run into them all the time. They nearly wiped out the Templars at the Circle, which only goes to show. Stupid creatures. That was the sort of thing that got hold of Arl Eamon's son, too." She scowled, tugging Loghain away as the demon's essence dissipated. "I suppose they think they're very erotic and all that, but they're very silly and vulgar, really!"

"If I am truly to leave the Peak after so long, I believe I must make some serious preparations," Avernus said to Loghain. "Call me when you are ready to leave in the morning." He mused. "Extraordinary! An adventure, after all these years…"

"Wait!" Maude cried, running after the old mage. "Loghain! Come on!"

Both men stared at her. Maude gabbled out, "I just realized—you're a Senior Warden!"

"I am," Avernus replied. "Obviously."

"You don't understand! I've never had a chance to talk to a Senior Warden at length since I joined the Grey Wardens myself. I was only a Warden for a few hours before they were all killed except Alistair and me, and he had only been a Warden a few months, and he didn't know anything! I sort of made everything up as I went along for the past year. There's so much I don't know! I mean, some things I do know, of course, like—

"Enough!" Avernus raised his hand to silence her. "The other young woman is not a Warden, and we cannot speak freely in front of her. Come with me to my workroom, and I shall endeavor to answer your questions."

"I shall get some rest," Morrigan declared. "Do try not to make too much noise on your return, however despondent you are."

"Sorry, Morrigan!" the girl called over her shoulder, as she hurried after the two men. "This is so exciting!"

* * *

Loghain considered the vast workroom. "What was the purpose of your experiments?"

"To stop the demonic tide, of course, but originally to make the Warden's even more powerful. Our joining ritual is crude. The darkspawn taint has power, yet all it is used for is to sense the creatures. Much more is possible."

"Blood magic?" Loghain asked. It seemed obvious.

"Come, my fellow Warden. The very Joining itself is the darkest of Blood Magic. There is great strength in blood. Disregard the Chantry's lies for the children's tales they are. They know nothing, and invent rubbish to conceal their ignorance. Nothing is forbidden the Wardens. Honorable surrender is not an option when fighting darkspawn."

"All right!" Maude said, perching herself on the edge of his worktable. "We know about the shortened lifespan, and the Calling, and about constant hunger, and the nightmares."

Avernus was amused. "I doubt that you know all there is to know about any of those things."

"I daresay not," Loghain agreed. "and _I_ wondered all year why you had not recruited more Wardens."

"I didn't know how!" the girl admitted.

"How can this be?" Avernus frowned. "If she—" he gestured at Maude, "—did not know how to perform the Joining, how did you become a Warden?"

"It was Riordan-" Maude explained.

"—that _Orlesian_," Loghain interrupted. "He was the one who thought it such a good idea for me to become a Warden. He's run off to scout the Archdemon's movements, without another word to us. We're to meet him in Redcliffe, where the armies are gathering, and presumably we'll talk then—if he survives at all."

"I hope he does," Maude said. "I thought there must be more to the Joining thing than just darkspawn blood, and I didn't want to risk poisoning anyone to no purpose."

"Quite sensible," Avernus agreed. "The Joining potion must also contain lyrium and a drop of archdemon blood. Even if someone survived drinking a cup of darkspawn blood, they would become nothing more than a ghoul, not a Grey Warden. So the first Grey Wardens found, in fact. If you want to make more Wardens, I have the necessary supplies."

"Do you?" Maude considered. "That's good to know. That might be something to try."

Loghain was growing impatient. "The single most essential gap in our knowledge however, is why the Grey Wardens insist they are even necessary! That has never been answered to my satisfaction. Grey Wardens claim that only they can stop a Blight, but _I do not know why_!"

Avernus looked at them, considering. "I shall tell you what you wish to know, but first, I have something for both of you," he said. "There will never be a better time." From a rack of vials, he selected one, and then after a moment, another.

"Drink this," he said, handing the first to Maude. She instantly drank it down before Loghain could make a grab for her.

"You little idiot!" he shouted, "What did I tell you about putting things in your mouth?"

The girl swayed, and then licked her lips. "Not raspberry. It's not bad though. I feel really good. Sort of—invincible, actually. You've got to try this, Loghain!"

"It is nothing to be feared," Avernus told Loghain in his dry, old-man's voice. "I would do nothing to compromise your effectiveness. Quite the contrary. As I said, the Joining ritual is crude. My refined formula will give you powers far beyond the mere sensing of darkspawn."

"Oh, come on, Loghain!" the girl teased him. "What's the worst that could happen? If we die, we don't have to see what Oghren's done to the North Road Inn!"

There was that, true. If he could drink darkspawn blood once, he could drink it again. And the girl didn't seem about to fall down dead. _What the hell._ Loghain lifted the vial in salute, and swallowed the contents.

And felt like he was being burned from the inside out. Before he could shout at the girl some more and then kill Avernus, the sensation passed, leaving power in its wake. He felt—good. More than good. He felt alive, the way he had felt when he fought the Orlesians: his youth beating in him like wings.

The girl was smiling at him, full of delight and mischief. Maker, she was pretty. In the last few minutes she had somehow become even more alluring. Along with renewed vigor came a surge of desire for her. The taint in her called out to him like a beloved old song.

"Feel better now, do you? Stronger?" Avernus asked. "Good. You will want all your strength as I explain exactly why only a Grey Warden can stop a Blight."

* * *

_Thanks to all my reviewers: Amhran Comhrac, ByLanternLight, Aoihand, Piceron, Zyanic, Enaid Aderyn, mille libri, Eva Galana, Shakespira, Alpha Cucumber, Guile, Carnie Heart, mutive, Marching Madly Onward, Annara Ren, Angurvddel, GW Katrina, Persephone Chiara, and Reyavie. Thanks to all who have favorited or alerted or otherwise enjoyed this story. I am having so much fun with this, and I've at last got a good plot arc that will go through numerous chapters. _

_I couldn't resist doing something with Avernus. The Warden PC never gets to ask the big questions. This must be remedied!  
_


	5. Meeting the Parents

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 5: Meeting the Parents  
**

"Have you ever wondered," Avernus began, "why the First Blight lasted over a hundred years? Why the great Tevinter Empire, with the mightiest army the world has ever known, could not put paid to one dragon, large though it might be?"

The girl was still perched on the mage's worktable, her face shining like a child's hearing a favorite old tale.

"I had wondered, yes," Loghain admitted. Deep inside him there had always been a nameless dread: the fear that the Grey Wardens really did have vital information. Anger, too: that they would hoard secrets to themselves for their own gain.

"Well," Avernus smiled, a little maliciously, "the short answer is that they did. They killed the Old God Dumat—now become the Archdemon Dumat- in the sixth year of the Blight." Seeing Loghain's puzzled frown and the girl's suspense, he gave them the punchline. "—_B__ut __it didn't stay dead."_

Satisfied at their rapt attention, he continued, like a schoolmaster with a pair of favorite pupils. "It was the taint, you see. The Archdemon's dragon body was slain, but its essence—its powerful spirit—sought out a new host. It followed the taint to the nearest darkspawn, and took up residence there, directing the Blight from a new command post, as it were. When that darkspawn was slain, the essence moved on—and on-and on. And so forth, you see, making the Archdemon essentially unfindable and unkillable. The Blight ultimately would have destroyed all life in Thedas, if a band of determined and desperate men and women had not sacrificed their lives in thousands of failed experiments to create a being capable of truly slaying an Archdemon."

"Oh." The girl said, in a very small voice. She had obviously reached the same conclusion as Loghain.

"I can see that the two of you are capable of simple logic. Admirable and unusual. However, to make it perfectly clear, I shall state it openly: The Grey Warden who strikes the killing blow, slaying the Archdemon, perishes in the act. The essence of the Archdemon is drawn to the taint in the Grey Warden; and as the Grey Warden is not an empty, soulless vessel like the darkspawn, the essence of the Archdemon and the soul of the Grey Warden collide, killing them both. It is the only way to permanently kill an Archdemon."

Loghain felt the bits and pieces of long-forgotten tales click into place in his mind. So much was now explained.

"I wish I'd known this from the first," the girl said, looking mutinous. "I _needed_ to know this! I could have told you—" she said furiously to Loghain, "I could have_ told _you and then you would have seen there was a place for us!"

"It is a central secret of our order," Avernus pointed out mildly. "It is believed that no one would voluntarily become a Grey Warden if it were known what was required."

"So?" she challenged. "That's what the Right of Conscription is for! If somebody is stupid enough to actually _want _to be a Grey Warden, they're probably not fit to be one!"

"Ah, my dear young lady," Avernus smirked. "You are of noble birth and no doubt had the world at your feet. I assure that I most ardently wanted to be a Grey Warden, as an alternative to a life imprisoned in the Circle of Magi!"

"Are you sure there isn't any other way?" She scowled. "There's always a loophole in these things."

He regarded her gravely. "There are ways to kill the dragon without killing the Grey Warden, yes; but they result in leaving the Archdemon itself alive and well."

"Oh." She struggled with that. "Well—" she said, her cheerful tone a little forced, "—it could be worse."

"Yes, it could," Loghain agreed.

It was really not so bad, in fact. Loghain had immediately decided, even before Avernus had completed his grim little speech, that he himself would be the sacrifice. So much of this was his own fault. He would give his life for Ferelden, and redeem his honor.

"Now, if you will excuse me," the old mage said, his voice a little hoarse. "I must prepare and rest for the adventure before us. I have not spoken to anyone other than demons and ghosts in over two hundred years, and find myself rather fatigued."

The girl slid down from the worktable. "Good night, Avernus! Thank you so much! Truth is best, after all!"

Loghain merely nodded at the mage, and pulled the girl along with him, when she seemed inclined to poke through a nearby chest.

The cold air on the bridge to the Keep was bracing, but the girl dawdled, thinking aloud.

"No, really—" the girl went on. "I was afraid it would be something impossible, and that I would have to go to Par Vollen or somewhere else ridiculous and obtain something like the ultra-secret Holy Oil of Wildervale mixed with the breath of the Black Divine. Or I'd have to try to sweet-talk yet another tribe of gormless nitwits into supporting us. It's really not so bad. All I have to do is kill the Archdemon."

"I shall take the final blow. So you should be saying 'all _Loghain_ has to do is kill the Archdemon.'"

"Certainly not!" She shook her head. "I saw it first. It's _my_ Archdemon and _I'm_ going to kill it."

Loghain grunted, dismissing her protests. It was pointless to argue with her, since he had already decided what must be done. Besides, it was too cold and windy on the bridge to remain there talking. They returned to the comparative warmth of the keep, the shadows closing in around them.

"Oh, look," the girl whispered. "Morrigan's sleeping in Sophia's room. " She grinned at Loghain. "She has her fur cloak on."

Loghain looked over the girl's head into the room, and saw the wolf curled in front of a fire.

Maude tugged on his arm and said, "Let's go to that sitting room downstairs, Morrigan likes her privacy, and that's the one place that hasn't any bones in it."

They could even have a fire there on the dirty hearth, feeding it splintered old furniture. An impenetrably grimy portrait hung over the mantel. The dog sprawled out in front of the fire with a doggy sigh.

They began quietly unarming, packs and cloaks and helmets and gauntlets-and then each helping the other with the awkward bits. Loghain had not had to armor himself in years, and the girl seemed to know all about squiring. Taught by her father and brother from childhood, no doubt.

And of course she must have done this for Alistair. He glanced down at the girl's face, intent and serious, as she deftly unfastened a buckle. There was a pleasurable intimacy in feeling her hands on him.

They had not been so completely alone together since he became a Warden. Always a crowd of her followers: always the noise and the talk and laughter and the occasional acid words.

"Do you suppose they've burned down the inn yet?" he said, filling up the quiet.

The girl laughed. "I hope not. I was planning on having a bath there tomorrow." She moved to his other side. "Wynne will scold them for me. And Sten won't do anything so undisciplined as set the place on fire. Of course," she considered, "if he thinks his honor demands it, he might go on a rampage and kill everyone in sight, but that's very unlikely. He only did that the one time, as far as I know." She tugged at the armor, and it pulled away from Loghain like a snake shedding its skin. He grunted in relief. Maude knelt to unfasten his greaves.

They were quiet while she worked, until the last piece was neatly piled in a corner. Loghain considered leaving on his gambeson, but couldn't bear it. It too was discarded, and he was left in shirt and underbreeches, feeling very exposed.

"Now do me," the girl demanded, turning her buckled side to him.

Smirking ruefully at the offer, he kicked over a stool that looked likely to support his weight, and sat down on it, while he unraveled the mystery of her trappings. The cuirass was eased off and set aside, and Loghain focused on the straps at her outer thighs.

"I have got to take my hair down," she sighed, unpinning the messy braided coil at the back of her head. The long braid slipped from her hands and the end hit Loghain on the nose.

"That was like being whipped with a rope's end," he growled.

"Sorry. Perhaps I should bind the ends with gold beads in the ancient Alamarri style and whack the darkspawn senseless."

"There's an image. You need new straps on this side."

"No I don't. I shall need _all_ new straps once I clean up my amazing new armor. My friends will hardly know me, and my enemies will tremble at the sight."

"You should save it for the Landsmeet and parades. This is a perfectly serviceable set of dragonbone despite its lack of griffons and blue enamel. It was made by Master Wade, was it not?"

"Indeed it was. His partner Herren has banned me from the shop for a full year. It seems I was monopolizing too much of Wade's time with experiments. Wade made the drakescale that Zevran and Leliana wear, too."

"That's good work."

She carefully gathered her hairpins and tucked them away in a pocket. "I can't afford to lose any of these. You'd be surprised how hard it can be to find hairpins."

"I wouldn't be surprised at all. I don't imagine they're to be found in the Deep Roads."

She laughed remembering. "Well—there _was_ this poor, corrupted dwarf in the Ortan Thaig. He was living in a little cave there, hoarding what he could and living off darkspawn. He liked me, and when I left he said he would think about the smell of my hair. 'Such a nice memory,' he told me. He even had hairpins, though that was because a large dwarven clan had camped there not two years before. It was very handy, finding hairpins just as I was going into the Dead Trenches."

"That's the last," he said. Her greaves were set aside and she flexed her ankles. "What are the Dead Trenches?" he asked.

"A very bad place that I hope you never visit," she replied. "That's where we saw—" she broke off, a curiously blank look on her face. "No." she said, finally. "No, I don't want to talk or think about that. I've got some of those mutton pies in my pack. Aren't you hungry? I'm hungry."

The dog opened his eyes and gave a low whine at the smell of the food. The girl tossed him a pie, which he caught midair and swallowed in two bites. He cocked his head, gazing at her mournfully with wounded, innocent brown eyes until she tossed him another.

"That's all, you fraud! We get to eat, too!"

The pies were still good, even crumbled as they were. They shared Loghain's canteen of watered brandy, eating and drinking slowly to make it all last longer.

She spread out her cloak on the floor, leaning over in a way that caused the firelight to glow through her thin linen shirt. It revealed quite a bit he ought not to know about her figure. He hissed in discomfort and looked away, waiting icily for his body to leave him alone.

He tried to distract himself by adding more wood to the fire. The dog rolled over, got up, and lay down next to the girl.

_Good. A chaperone,_ Loghain thought, intensely grateful. The dog was on the far side of the girl, but it was better than nothing.

"Silly Ranger," the girl murmured. "You're nice and warm, though."

Loghain looked into the fire, and finally said, "All right. I now officially admit that Grey Wardens are essential to the security of Thedas."

"I'm so glad," the girl said softly. "We don't have to fight about anything anymore, do we?"

"Well—we don't have to _fight_ each other," he allowed, still not looking at her. "I'm sure we'll find plenty to disagree about."

"-And now we've got Avernus. I'm going to bombard him with questions all the way to Redcliffe. I've been a horrible Grey Warden mentor to you: almost as bad as Alistair was to me. A lot of that was because I simply don't know much, and I was rather ashamed of my ignorance. In retrospect, when I look back on the Landsmeet, I was being rather ridiculous, making claims of my own importance without much to support them—that I really knew of."

"I don't know," Loghain shrugged, adding another chair leg to the blaze. "If you had come to me as a complete stranger—a young mercenary with dragonslaying experience and a mob of allies for Ferelden—I would have been glad to have you. I would have enlisted you in a heartbeat and thought I'd done a good day's work."

"That's nice to know." The girl sighed. "I just wish we'd had a chance to talk before everything got all complicated and public and fraught with passion. I seriously considered slipping into your bedchamber and having it out with you in private."

"Holy Maker," Loghain groaned, trying to picture it. "I don't see how _that_ could have ended without a great deal of blood on the floor."

"I don't know," the girl mused, "I can be very persuasive. I even figured out a route over the roofs and through your window. I was really, really thinking about it, but I couldn't find an opportunity to get away from my friends."

"If you're so _persuasive_," he said, finally turning to look at her, "You should have used some of that persuasion on our new king at the Landsmeet!"

She winced, and curled up smaller within her cloak. "Don't remind me! What a horrible miscalculation! It has to be the stupidest mistake I ever made. I didn't do—_that_—to Alistair because I thought he would understand! I've never killed anyone who surrendered. I thought he would have learned that. Sometimes he hasn't liked things I was about to do, but I would tell him it was going to be all right, and he'd back down, and then they were! Always! How could he not remember that I was always right and he was always wrong? Just once, I wanted him to the do the right thing on his own! Just once!"

"Well-" Loghain snorted, "—good luck with that!"

"And now he hates me," the girl whispered. "He feels I've betrayed him. Of course that's complete rubbish, because he's the one who's betrayed his oath and made an ass of himself, Still, that's the way he feels, and you have to consider people's feelings, even when they're being idiotic."

"It's simpler if you don't," he grunted.

She raised her brows at him, and he managed a bitter laugh.

"I take your point. Stupid people's feelings to be coddled, or they turn on you." He added, wanting to hurt her. "Like _Alistair."_

She looked so bereft that he instantly regretted his words. Rather than apologize, he told her, "We need to get some rest if we're to take your favorite ancient mage for his outing tomorrow."

He wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down beside her, a few feet away.

The fire crackled a little, but the girl's breathing did not settle down to the even rhythm of sleep.

"Loghain? " she murmured.

"What now?"

"I know you have every reason to be angry and resentful, and I know I've done terrible things to you, and I know you must hate me, but there is nothing more important than what we are doing. I'm so glad you're here with me. We're the ones who are going to save Ferelden, and nobody else. A thousand soldiers could not do what we _shall _do. Ferelden will be saved because we were here, and I don't think that's so bad, do you?"

"Even though a Grey Warden must be sacrificed?"

"We're not going to die. I'm sure Avernus believes it, but I've never faced a danger I couldn't fight my way out of, or talk my way out of, or cheat my way out of. I don't believe in the no-win scenario! There's always a way! We're _not_ going to die. Avernus is basing his theory on only a handful of instances, anyway. Maybe those Wardens weren't as strong as we are! Besides, the Archdemon is only a dragon when all's said and done, and dragons are strong but stupid creatures. It's not like the Archdemon is some sort of military genius. All it does is throw a horde of screaming darkspawn straight at us. So—you know what? -I'm going to kill that stupid, ugly dragon and have a spiffy suit of armor made from it. You may have one, too. We could have matching armor. Maybe even matching Archdemon Grey Warden helmets! We're going to survive, and completely gut this castle and fix it up-because it's really pretty grim- and we're going to have heaps of adventures killing evil creatures—"

"—and taking their stuff," Loghain said, on the edge of sleep.

"Exactly," she murmured, tired out by her rant. "It's going to be brilliant…"

* * *

_He is almost certain that they are together in the Fade. She is certainly behaving just like herself, only more so._

_It is one of the usual dreams. He is sitting at breakfast with Father and Mother. Father is talking about harrowing the back five acres by Ticklespring Wood, and Mother is serving that oat-and-apple slumpy with cream that he likes so much and will never have anywhere else ever again. He is putting that first, perfect spoonful in his mouth…_

_There is a knock at the door._

_Loghain shuts his eyes. Usually it is the Orlesians. More recently it has been the darkspawn. It is useless to hide. He opens his eyes and sees that now it is the girl, in her magnificent new armor, framed in the doorway, beaming at them all._

"_Maker bless all in this house!" she says. "May Loghain come out to play?"_

_His parents look at each other, worried and confused. Mother tries manners first, as always._

"_Good day to you, my lady. We were just setting down to breakfast. Would you do us the honor of joining us?"_

"_Thank you so much!" She immediately thumps herself down on the bench next to Loghain. "This looks wonderful!"_

_They are all eating, silent and comfortable. She asks his mother, "Do I detect a touch of nutmeg?"_

_Mother is so pleased. "Yes, my lady! That is my secret ingredient!"_

"_Nutmeg!" The girl enthuses. "I __love__ nutmeg." She scrapes her bowl clean, and then raises her brows at him. "Nice armor, Loghain!" she remarks. "I like you in black leather."_

"_Father made this for me."_

"_It suits you." She tells his parents, "After I kill the Archdemon, Loghain and I are going to have matching armor made from it."_

_He can't let her get away with that. "She meant to say, 'after _**_Loghain_**_ kills the Archdemon…'"_

_The girl makes a face at him._

"_That sounds nice, dear," his mother says, stroking Loghain's hair back from his brow. "Don't forget to take a thick, warm cloak."_

_A draught whistles through the doorway, and the air changes. The walls of his house are blurring: changing into rough stone, and his parents are whirling away. Loghain reaches out for them, but they are already gone, their images shrinking down to a bright little circle that blinks out, leaving him in a dim, fetid cavern._

"_Not this again," the girl mutters. "I hate this place. I shouldn't have mentioned the Dead Trenches to you. All things considered, I'd much rather be having breakfast with your parents."_

"_What it this?' Loghain asks. Underneath their feet is a repulsively soft red ooze that stinks of rotten meat. Ropes of it spread out like diseased vines. Ahead of them a woman's screaming shrills high above the grunts and chuckles of the darkspawn. The path turns around a rock ledge in front of them. If he just takes a few steps more, he will see…_

_The girl grabs his arm. "Don't go there, Loghain! The Archdemon just wants to hurt you. You don't need to see it. We'll go the other way this time. Branka can have the Anvil. The dwarves are dying, anyway. If they go on like this, they've got what? Two, maybe three generations before they're extinct…"_

_She tugs at him again. Another voice drifts through the cavern, the voice of a dwarf woman:_

**"_First day they come and catch every one;_**

**_Second day they beat us and eat some for meat;_**

**_Third day the men are all gnawed on again;_**

**_Fourth day we wait, and fear for our fate;_**

_**Fifth day they return, and it's another girl's turn…"**  
_

_The girl shouts, "We're going! We're going now! Take my hand, Loghain! Don't listen to that poor sad cow!"_

_But he cannot move, and the voice drones on,_

**"—_Sixth day her screams we hear in our dreams;_**

**_Seventh day she grew as in her mouth they spew;_**

**_Eighth day we hated as she is violated;_**

**_Ninth day she grins, and devours her kin;_**

**_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast…"_**

_The ledge in front of him is melting away, revealing something impossible: something immense and unthinkable; something legless and tentacled and many-breasted; something that surely cannot be._

_The voice whispers, **"Broodmother…"**_

"_Take my hand, Loghain! We're leaving!" His hand is in hers, and the very air explodes outward, carrying them away...  
_

* * *

Somehow, they were still hand in hand as he thrashed himself awake. The girl was sitting up, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. The fire had faded to embers, and the light was dim and red. The dog whimpered, blinked, and then subsided back into sleep with a soft snore.

The girl gave Loghain's hand a squeeze, and managed a half-smile. "That was a nasty one. I've become better at ignoring them. Sorry I let that one get through."

She had quite a nice hand: hard and slender, long-fingered and capable. He reluctantly let it go when she got up to prod the fire into life. He tossed another chair leg to her, and she added it to the brightening flame.

"What in the Holy Maker's name was that thing?" he managed.

She sat back down on her cloak, arm draped over her raised knee, as she studied the fire. "You heard the rhyme. That was a Broodmother." She glanced at Loghain and shrugged. "What did you think? That there were darkspawn mamas and papas, and the patter of little darkspawn feet? That crazy dwarf had another saying:

_''That's where they come from,_

_That's why they need us,_

_That's why they hate us,_

_That's why they feed us.'"_

She shook her head. "I mean, come on, Loghain! Haven't you ever wondered why all darkspawn appear to be male? Did you ever wonder what happened to the women who were taken at Ostagar?"

That hurt. "I presumed that everyone who did not escape was killed." A host of faces flashed through his memory, and he felt utterly desolate as the possibilities unfolded...

"That's what I would have thought, until I saw one of those things in the Dead Trenches. That crazy dwarf, Hespith, told me what happened. She even knew the woman's name! We don't think about the darkspawn raping women, because they don't do it right there on the battlefield. They have to take the women down below for the ritual, and they perform it where they want her to breed, because once she's changed, she's not ever going anywhere else. You don't need legs to breed, after all." She lay back down, with a sigh. "I try not to think about it, because there's absolutely nothing I can do about it, except make sure I'm never taken alive. With the kind of armor I've taken to wearing, I'm not even sure if the darkspawn can perceive I'm a woman, which is all to the good."

"Do you think those women remember who they are-or were?"

She turned on her side, her young face golden in the firelight. "I don't know. I hope not. That would be too awful. The one I met couldn't speak, and certainly put up a fight. I'm told the men's minds go very quickly in captivity, so I suppose the women's do too. It's for the best."

He shifted to his side, facing her, and took her hand again, running his thumb over the sword calluses on her palm. "Nothing like that will ever happen to you."

She smiled drowsily. "Certainly not! Once I kill the Archdemon, the darkspawn will all retreat below."

He shook his head slightly. "You mean, once _I_ kill the Archdemon-"

"Oh, go to sleep..."

* * *

Loghain reluctantly opened his eyes in response to an annoying and persistent _tapping._

It was the girl, of course, prancing about barelegged in her shirt. All very nice, of course, but distracting, especially when one was just waking in the morning.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing?" he growled, unable to express himself in any other way at the moment. "Are you all right?"

She gave him a startling sweet smile. "Yes I am. Wonderfully well, in fact. Thank you for being so nice to me last night. I was looking at the wall just now, and I saw that the proportions are off." She pressed her ear to the wall, hands tapping up and tapping down. "That invariably means—there we are. Watch this!" she said, eyes shining, and then gave the wall beside the mantel a hard blow with her fist.

A portion of the wall rolled up, revealing an iron chest.

"Ha!" she cried. "Oh, I do hope there's something nice in here!"

He grunted, and reached for his gambeson and boots. "I'll be back shortly,"

She hummed an absent acknowledgment, busily at work on the lock. Ranger was up, tail wagging, mutely pleading with Loghain to take him out.

"Fine," he agreed. "We'll let her loot the place. You and I have better things to do."

Whatever they had done the day before had been effective. Outside the morning light was no longer eerily bright, but pleasantly normal. Ranger took care of his business and then galloped in the snow, tongue hanging out absurdly. And of course, he found a stick.

No—it was an ulna, actually, but after all—why not? The former owner hadn't used it in years. Loghain obliging threw the bone a few times and Ranger was very good indeed at running and jumping and catching in midair.

They came back to find Maude sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a pile of weapons, arms, and considerable gold.

"Isn't this a nice sword, Loghain? These sovereigns are all Orlesian, but in very good condition—"

"The gold might be useful, but put the rest back."

"Put it back?" she said, horrified.

"Put it back. You don't need another sword. Everything will be perfectly safe here. Put it back for safekeeping. This belongs to the Wardens, doesn't it? When you come back to redecorate, it will all be here."

She frowned, dissatisfied. "You mean I've been spending my time looking at things that are already mine? That's sort of—disappointing."

He reached down, and hauled her to her feet. "Get dressed and help me with my armor. You found things of yours you didn't know you had, and that's still counts as a legitimate find, in my opinion."

"That's true," she granted, and worked on armoring him agreeably enough. "I'm still going to take that armor along, though, and clean it up at the inn. Oh—and let's not forget Avernus!"

"I'm not going to forget Avernus," he assured her. "Where's the marsh witch?"

"I wish you wouldn't call her that. Her name is Morrigan. She's getting ready. She already went out for a run this morning and caught herself some breakfast."

"Spare me the details." Quickly, he fastened the girl's buckles and gave the long braid a yank. "Do something with this rope of yours."

"It's such a mess. I'll have to comb it all out and rebraid it."

"Do that. I'll fetch the old mage." He headed to the tower, the dog trotting after, and saw the witch settling her cloak over her shoulders.

"You are going to the tower?" she asked. "I shall join you."

They found Avernus dressed and shod for travel, his pack already prepared.

"Ah, Loghain!" he greeted them. "I am quite ready, as you see. And a good morrow to you, Mistress Morrigan. But Loghain, where is your young woman?"

Morrigan threw Loghain a mocking smile, and he grimaced. Rather than waste time on lengthy disclaimers that Maude was hardly _his_ "young woman," he let it pass.

"Doing something with her hair. She should be ready momentarily."

The old men cast a last look over his laboratory as they left, and uttered a soft sigh. "Strange. For so long I expected to spend the rest of my life there. Fate has a twisted sense of humor."

"So I have always thought."

Maude was ready by the time they arrived, her pack bulging with her new armor.

"Oh, good morning to you, Avernus! You're looking very chipper."

"I'm feeling quite well, thank you, and I've taken care that the feeling will last as long as I need it, despite my age."

"Most admirable," murmured Morrigan, eyeing Avernus with just the faintest hint of respect. "I shall take great pleasure in informing Wynne that Avernus is even older than she."

"I'm possibly the oldest person alive in Thedas," Avernus agreed.

Morrigan laughed sharply. "Not as old as my mother!"

They moved down the stairs and through the hall. Loghain could not imagine what the mage was feeling in bidding farewell to his home of centuries. The two young women were keep up a stream of chatter that might distract him.

He certainly seemed curious about Morrigan's claim. They paused in the entry hall, while Maude explained. "Morrigan is a 'daughter' of Flemeth. I don't think she's really her blood-relation at all, but she was raised by her."

"Indeed," Morrigan said proudly. "Flemeth taught me my magic."

"Impressive," "Avernus granted, very dryly. "Has your—'mother'—I suppose, though that hardly seems the correct word-told you the secret of her longevity?"

"I thought you killed Flemeth," Loghain said to Maude.

"I did! In her dragon form. Flemeth's a shapechanger and taught it to Morrigan—but she'll probably be back. That means, Avernus, that you probably do win the title of oldest actual person in Thedas. I killed her _because _of the secret of her longevity and the threat it posed to Morrigan."

Loghain had not heard the story and waited for the girl to tell all.

"You don't mind if I tell them, do you Morrigan? It's quite interesting and horrible. Flemeth apparently steals little girls with magical gifts, trains them up, and when they seem just right to her, she takes their bodies as her own. She was planning that for Morrigan. She was going to steal her body and wear it like a new silk gown."

Even Avernus seemed taken aback at that. Loghain stared. "What happened to the souls of the girls?"

"I have no idea," Morrigan admitted. "Perhaps they were destroyed outright. Perhaps they were transferred to the worn-out old body. I had no desire to find out. Maude showed great generosity is slaying my mother in her dragon form. I dared not be anywhere nearby, lest Flemeth seize hold of my body as she perished."

"How did you discover this? It is—extraordinary magic," said Avernus.

"Maude happened upon a grimoire of my mother's at the Tower of the Circle of Magi."

"I nicked it from the First Enchanter's study," added Maude, without a hint of shame. "Flemeth's real grimoire was in her hut in the Wilds."

"-and you took _that _after you killed her," Loghain guessed.

"Of course! But—you know—I don't know if I told you this, Morrigan, but Flemeth offered to give it to me in exchange for leaving her alone. Don't look so horrified, Morrigan! She was very patronizing and you know that always irritates me. I thought you'd be safer—at least for a time—if she were dead. And you know what, Loghain? You know what I said about dragons being stupid? She thought herself so clever, but she fought just like a dragon, all the same. All I had to do was beat on her, throw bombs, wear her down. She was no cleverer than any other brute!"

"That is hardly surprising," Morrigan said, a little defensively. "She was in dragon form. I have explained to you the limitations of operating in another form. When I am a wolf, my physical reactions and desires are those of a wolf. I retain the capacity for thought, but in the stress of combat, it is very difficult to think like a human."

"Maybe it really will be the same for the Archdemon," Maude considered. "I certainly haven't seen any signs of any great intellect there! Sort of a noisy, bullying half-wit, really."

Morrigan huffed, and seemed oddly offended. They stepped outside into the sunlight. Loghain enjoyed the comparative silence as they made their way down the slope and back into the tunnels. Here at least, it was necessary to keep one's mind on the task at hand. Maude read the map rather than gossiping, and Avernus gave them a few more facts about the Peak itself.

"When Asturian came to build a base for the Wardens, he chose the Coast Mountains for their granite. The darkspawn can tunnel, certainly, but granite is difficult for them. They will go hundreds of miles out of their way to avoid it. It's made the Peak secure for centuries. Fortunately- or unfortunately as the case may be- one must travel many miles to find an entrance to the Deep Roads."

"Is there one closer than Orzammar?" Maude asked, very surprised.

"There is one not far from West Hill," Loghain said quietly, remembering his ghastly journey underground during the rebellion.

"You are well informed, Loghain," said Avernus approvingly. "There is that entrance, and then there are two entrances that I know of in Amaranthine alone. None in Highever, though."

"Well, that's something," Maude said under her breath.

In time, they emerged from the dark of the tunnels into the track that led to the Coast Road.

"Little changed from my time," Avernus commented, looking about him with great interest. He seemed quite vigorous and strong—which would have startled Loghain more had he not been feeling so extraordinarily healthy and energetic himself. Whatever Avernus had given him was truly amazing. The girl was practically dancing along, unfazed by the weight of the new armor in her pack.

They came down from the mountains, and the snow gave way to the greens and browns of the Knotwood Hills.

"One of the entrances is somewhere around here," Avernus told them, "but it was thoroughly sealed before my time. There is also an entrance below the dungeons of an old Tevinter fortress, Drake's Fall. We used that for our own Wardens' Callings."

"Drake's Fall!" Maude shouted. "That was going to be my dower house if I married Tommy Howe! I should have known! Rendon Howe was planning to send me straight to Darkspawn Central! What an utter swine!"

Morrigan burst out laughing. Loghain failed to suppress a dark chuckle. It was just so completely _Howe._

Avernus was amused, but shook his head. "It is probable that he knew nothing of the entrance. We had a good relationship with the banns of Drake's Fall, and our entrance was well concealed and well fortified. With the end of the Grey Wardens at Soldier's Peak, it likely was completely forgotten. I daresay that the records of its existence are preserved in the library at Weisshaupt, but nowhere else."

Distracted from her outrage, Maude asked, "Have you ever been to Weisshaupt yourself?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Awful place, that."

"That what Riordan says." She told Loghain, "He said that the Wardens in the Anderfels are pretty much complete arses who don't care about the rest of Thedas and are always mucking about in local politics."

Avernus snorted. "So nice to know that some things don't change."

"When you were in Weisshaupt, Avernus, " Maude said, a smile blooming as something else suddenly occurred to her, "did you see a griffon?"

"I saw some, yes. Only a few were in the paddocks. They had decided to limit the population between Blights."

"Well, they limited it into extinction." Loghain told him dryly.

Avernus shrugged. "Pity. No doubt it was a scandal of incompetence and sloth. Against stupidity, the Wardens themselves struggle in vain. Griffons were never introduced to Ferelden, anyway."

"That's a shame," Maude sighed. "_We_ would have taken proper care of them. But it's not so bad, since we have mabari Grey Wardens instead. They're just as good as griffons!"

Ranger instantly barked his agreement.

Avernus threw a questioning glance at Loghain, who rolled his eyes.

"And there is the inn," Morrigan told Avernus, pointing at the sprawling structure in the distance. "Surprisingly intact."

"And exactly where it should be," Avernus agreed. Loghain was not surprised that the North Road Inn had stood in the spot for hundreds of years. He, too, was relieved not to see smoke billowing from burned-out wreckage.

As they approached, Maude gave Avernus a briefing about the Grey Warden allies. Qunaris he had met, dwarves he had met. The Antivan Crows he had heard of, so an elven assassin was not surprising to him. That they had a Circle mage numbered amongst them was only reasonable. He was, however, surprised-in the light of last night's revelations- to hear they had an Orlesian bard in their company, and he gave Loghain a look askance.

"She _claims_ to be Fereldan," Loghain explained, "though that is mostly fantasy on her part. She's mad, but a good archer, I'll grant."

"Leliana is very _nice_," Maude told Avernus in a low voice. "And she's not all _that_ mad."

"Ah."

The landlord had seen their approach, and came out to meet them, his wife following behind, frantically whispering. With many bows and a sickly, terrified smile, the man said to Loghain, "My lord! You've returned! Such a relief-perhaps you might-"

"Yes, I know," Loghain snapped. "I'll sort them out." He could hear the awful noise of Oghren singing even before the innkeeper swept the door open.

"Hello, everyone, we're back!" Maude called out cheerfully, as they walked into chaos. "Sten, please get Oghren down from the bar. Watch out, Morrigan! You almost stepped in...Oh, good morning, Zevran. What is that you're having? My, that looks good..."

Loghain raised his voice. "Private room, now! The innkeeper wants to clean up in here. Maude, tell the elf to round everyone up."

"Zevran!" Maude ordered, with a theatrically commanding gesture. "Round everyone up!"

"As you command, my princess!"

Within a few minutes the company was funnelled into the private room and everyone set about eating and drinking, while Maude made the introductions.

"...And this is Avernus, a Senior Grey Warden! We ran into him up at Soldier's Peak, and he has generously agreed to join the glad throng."

"A mage!" Wynne said warmly. " You are most welcome! Are you originally from the Orlesian Circle?"

"Not at all, Madam, " Avernus assured her. "I've never been to Orlais."

Wynne slid down the bench toward him, frowning in puzzlement. "You sound like a Fereldan."

"I am Fereldan. I was a mage of the Fereldan Circle before joining the Grey Wardens, in fact." He gave her a gracious nod. "And you are Senior Enchanter Wynne, as I understand."

"I am. But I'm afraid—I simply don't recall having met you."

"That is no surprise. I am rather older than I look, dear lady."

_

* * *

Thanks to my reviewers: Piceron, Persephone Chiara, Sarah1281, Shakespira, Lehni, Enaid Aderyn, Nithu, Annara Ren, mille libri, Alpha Cucumber, gaj620, Aoihand, Eva Galana, Amhran Comhrac, mutive, Reyavie, Jee Calcrie, Anon, and Jenna53. I appreciate all feedback!  
_


	6. The Wild Fereldan Girl

**The Keening Blade**

_There are spoilers in this chapter for the novel The Calling: or at least bits of it filtered through Loghain's dislike and distrust of Duncan. Loghain's interpretation of events is also influenced by his lack of information, since a lot of Grey Warden secrets were involved, and they were not shared with him. It would be impossible for him to trust someone simply because Maric did, considering Maric's very bad history of trusting people who did not deserve it. _**  
**

**Chapter 6: The Wild Fereldan Girl  
**

"I cannot believe that you took us up by the North Road just so that drunken lout could have a tumble!"

"Shh!" Maude gestured at Loghain to lower his voice, glancing back at their comrades. "Not just for that! We got Avernus out of it, too, lucky for us!"

Loghain could not deny that. The old man had proved himself of immense value already. Aside from his cool good sense and his need to say very little, he could cast a huge storm spell that knocked the toughest darkspawn off their feet and killed the weaker ones outright. He had done so, in fact, not half an hour before. And he kept the marsh witch occupied, thus not allowing her the opportunity to snipe at the rest of the party. Loghain had noticed the two of them talking quietly together.

Maude was still justifying herself. "Besides, I don't know that Oghren _will _get a tumble out of it. Maybe she'll recoil in horror. I don't know. But I owe it to him. I did kill his wife, after all. Imagine how you'd feel."

"Words fail me. Did Oghren not care much about her?"

"He must have, but she had already left him for another woman, you see."

"Ah. No. Sorry. I really cannot imagine how I would feel if I were a drunken dwarf berserker who had a wife who left me for a female lover, which wife then went mad—or was it before? And then another warrior whom I barely knew killed said deranged wife who had left me for the female lover. Somehow I can't see that joining my estranged wife's killer's warband would be the first thing to occur to me."

"You're not very much like Oghren, it's true." She smiled to herself.

"Thank the Maker," muttered Loghain.

"Anyway, I still feel I owe it to him to grant this one boon. He's never asked much from me, after all."

"So you found him this dwarf girl by way of making him one of your presents?"

"I didn't find her! He already knew her—yes, _that _way, too- and he wanted a chance to see her again before all our fates are sealed."

"Any other lost loves we'll be hunting down before we actually join the army at Redcliffe?"

"None, unless you—"

"Don't. I believe I still have the right to take this blade and-"

Leliana, ahead on point, uttered a sharp cry of warning. Underbrush rustled as booted feet rushed out.

Amid grunts and screams came the shout: "It's the Grey Warden! Get her!"

Maude burst out laughing as she drew her blades and launched herself at the attackers. "_'Get her!' _That always totally cracks me up."

Loghain smashed his shield against one of the men's faces, knocking him to the ground. The Keening Blade sang eerily as it came down.

"You all right, Leliana?" Maude called out.

Leliana was oblivious, happily singing out her battle cry as she slashed a throat. Her song was cut off as she spat out the blood that splashed into her mouth.

"Ugh!"

"I know," Maude agreed, parrying a lunge and thrusting home with graceful abandon. "I hate it when that happens."

The mages had run up, and within the seconds the attackers were down. One, a man whom Avernus had frozen, nearly exploded as he shattered into bloody icicles. Ranger was startled and leaped back, barking in alarm. Then he nosed at the melting pools of bloods, and licked at one tentatively.

"Hey, boss!" Oghren called, "Your dog is cannibalizing the dead again."

"Ranger! I told you about that!" Maude scolded, distracted from her looting. "Don't do that where people can see you!" She contradicted Oghren airily. "And it's not cannibalizing because they're not the same species."

Ranger barked triumphantly.

"So you're saying it's all right for you to eat dwarves and elves?" Oghren shot back, wiping his axe blade.

"I would have no objection whatever," Zevran said smoothly, with a smirk. "Our lovely leader can eat me whenever she so desires."

Maude did not bother to hear that, but Loghain did, and swiveled on the elf, glowering at him so fiercely that Zevran smiled disarmingly and backed away.

"—or not," he nodded, carefully pleasant.

"Look at this!" Leliana showed Maude a handbill, pulled from a dead man's belt pouch.

"What a pack of idiots!" Maude exclaimed, sitting back on her heels. She grinned up at Loghain and waved the crude woodcut at him. "Bounty hunters, trying to collect your bounty on me! I wonder how long these things will be following me around?" She studied the paper. "Ooo! Are you _serious?_ A hundred sovereigns! That's a very respectable sum! Loghain, can I have a hundred sovereigns if I turn myself in to you?"

"Very funny," he snarled, hauling her to her feet. One of the dead men was in his way, and he kicked at the limp, dead leg, hating the lessons in irony that were the fabric of his current existence.

Morrigan sidled past him, accidentally brushing her breast against his armored chest.

"I beg your pardon," she murmured, pointing at the vegetation. "Pussy mint." Loghain stared after her, wondering what that walk was all about. He let the looting and gathering go on about him, and found a fallen tree to sit on as he pulled out the map.

Avernus joined him. "How far are we from the inn?

"Not far," Loghain said, with another brief glance at the parchment. "Unless we're set upon by more prospective suicides, we should be there within two hours. _If_ the inn is still there, considering the number of darkspawn we've come across."

"Fewer today at least."

"There is that. They don't seem to have spread out to the west much. With luck there will be a boat at the village by the docks that can take us south to Redcliffe."

Avernus considered the idea. "That sounds—not unpleasant."

Loghain grunted. He had never gone anywhere by boat, other than a few trips to the Circle. The idea of traveling by ship was rather horrible, considering what had happened to Maric—who shouldn't have gone sailing away at all, in fact. Some people liked it, he knew, but people liked all sorts of repellent things.

In fact, they saw no darkspawn for the rest of the day, but instead were attacked by wolves, by bandits, and by a very peculiar-looking lone abomination that Avernus pronounced to be the work of a rage demon.

"Pride demons are a lot worse," Maude told Loghain, retrieving a diamond from the remains. "Oh, good! Another diamond! -Back at the Tower, Uldred got himself possessed by a Pride Demon. They're pretty impressive—a lot harder to kill than an ogre, and just as dangerous—in a lot of the same ways, actually."

"It was horrible," Wynne said feelingly. "A tragedy for the Circle, and so unnecessary." She narrowed her eyes at Loghain.

Loghain stiffened, about to take it up, when Maude said, "I don't know. I can see why the Tower went collectively mad. It's not reasonable to expect human beings to live like that. You make people desperate enough, and bad things happen."

Seeing Wynne about to say something else, she added, "And the lethal ingredient at that moment was _hope,_ which I realize that the Circle is generally short of. They actually thought they had a chance at freedom, when of course they didn't. If we hadn't shown up, the Circle would have been annulled, because the Templars were entirely ready to say _'Kill them all and let the Maker sort them out,'_ and you know it."

Sternly, Wynne said, "The Circle serves an important purpose. Young mages must learn to control themselves—"

"I agree!" Maude opened her hands in a gesture of acceptance. "I think a school for magic is a wonderful idea. I just don't think it should be policed by repressed, lyrium-addicted armed men!"

Morrigan sniffed. "I don't see that it's necessary at all!"

Wynne's eyes flashed with indignation.

Avernus said, very reasonably, "That is because, my dear young lady, _you _had the equivalent of a Master Enchanter giving you private tuition from an early age. Most young mages do not have your privileged upbringing."

Morrigan preened, considerably mollified. "That may be true," she granted.

"I think it would be wonderful," Maude said, eyes shining, "if there were a proper school for magic. Imagine what it could be if the Chantry weren't interfering, telling mages they're evil, and the mages ran it themselves. I'll bet it could be really nice. The apprentices could be allowed outside to play games, and they could have parties, and children would _want_ to go there. They'd be proud of getting word they'd been accepted, and their parents would be proud too, and send them letters, and brag to their neighbors, saying, "I have a child at the Circle!"

Loghain smiled to himself, amused at her fantasy.

"Oh, come on, Loghain!" the girl cried, fired by the idea. "And then the mages, once they were trained, could go out in the world and do all sorts of good. They could join the army and turn the enemies of Ferelden into tasty frozen treats, or work as healers and teachers. Think what a wonderful place Ferelden could be if it really offered its mages a place in society!"

"I've never heard that the Tevinter Empire is such a paradise," Wynne pointed out.

"Well, this is Ferelden, and we don't have to do things their way! And their robes are ugly, too."

"I've always considered the Circle of Mages Ferelden's last, best weapon," Loghain said, "and we certainly should do things our own way." She was still looking at him expectantly. He sighed. "And yes, their robes are hideous, especially those stupid looking fur capes."

Oh, I completely agree," said Leliana coming up, dusting off her leathers. "So unbecoming, though the short skirts for the female mages have a certain_ je ne sais quoi."_

"Oh, speak the King's Tongue, for Maker's sake." Loghain muttered.

Zevran shook his head. "I never know what that means, this _'je ne sais quoi'_ the Orlesians speak of."

"It means..." Leliana looked away into distant mental horizons, "It means—oh, I don't know—it means a certain something that cannot be described."

Sten raised his brows, "And that would be a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"Oh, a very good thing," Leliana assured him earnestly.

Sten grunted, raising a brow at Loghain, who felt exactly the same.

He said, "I'd say it's time to move on, if we're to make the inn by sunset."

"All right," Maude said agreeably. "I'll take point now."

* * *

Loghain remembered that there was an inn on the shores of Lake Calenhad near the Circle Tower, but he was sure it had borne another name than the one the girl used when he had visited twenty years ago. He simply couldn't remember what it was.

Of course, he had been rather harried at the moment, as Orlesian infiltrators had seized both the Tower and Maric, and were conspiring to overthrow Ferelden with the aid of the Grey Wardens. He well remembered climbing those ever-twisting stairs, blood on his sword, cutting his way up them to find Maric alive, beyond all his expectations. Alive and friendly as you please with the very people—or at least _some _of them—who appeared to be trying to kill him.

He had never understood Maric's friendship with Duncan, and he had resented it fiercely. They had _bonded_ in the course of an adventure that Maric should never have undertaken. So Duncan had turned his coat and saved Maric's life? How convenient, when Loghain was already on the way.

They had secrets together, Maric and Duncan: secrets that Loghain was not privy to. Maric had special knowledge about the Wardens themselves—and clearly knew more than he would tell about the strange tainted creature that had been executed shortly after Loghain's arrival. The execution prevented Loghain from asking the questions that needed answering. There was something wrong about the whole affair. The Orlesian Warden commander—Genevieve –had been killed in a struggle with the other conspirators. She, too, had had some sort of qualms about the plot. Loghain felt less animus toward her than some of the others. She had been a truly splendid warrior, and the quest for her lost brother had not been a mere pretext—at least on her part. Whatever her faults, she had paid with her life.

Well, Maric had had his adventure, and in the meantime had left Loghain with a kingdom to run and a bewildered child to comfort. Maric, he admitted to himself, too weary to deny it any longer, had been a bad father. Cailan had wanted to be like Maric, and had become like him in all the worst ways. It hurt indescribably to face the truth.

What was been the name of inn back then? Something about the Silver Knight, in reference to King Calenhad? Silver Something or Other, anyway. Now it was The Spoiled Princess. He smothered a snort of laughter, with a glance at his young -

What? Companion? Comrade? Ally? Fellow Warden? Commander? Their roles shifted, day by day, hour by hour. He had been her defeated foe at first, kneeling at her feet in submission. She had then become his savior, sparing his life, dismissing the protests of the new King-elect. A whirl of events, and she spirited him away , and was his captor and he the captive. That, however, had not been at all what she wanted, for then had come the kind and forgiving words, and the gifts, and their need to stand together against the dark tide threatening to overwhelm Ferelden.

They were traveling together, so "companion" was a reasonable description. "Fellow Wardens" they certainly were, since that rainy afternoon when he downed the goblet of darkspawn blood.

"Comrade" was a charged term, fraught with meaning. _Were_ they comrades? The girl behaved as if they were. She behaved as if everything that had made them mortal enemies for over a year was behind them, not exactly forgotten, but no longer relevant to their situation.

She was his 'commander," he supposed. She was the "commander" of this strange and eclectic band of outcasts and ruffians and adventurers, and he was certainly as much an outcast as any of them. She led them, nearly without visible effort, perhaps because they believed in her, even if they cared nothing for her cause. Her command style, of course, was as eccentric as herself. She led, not by the authority lent to her by Crown or Chantry, but by the mutual consent of her companions. Perhaps they followed her because they had nothing better to do with their lives, and she gave them purpose. Perhaps they followed her because no one else would have them.

It was more a tribe, led by a chief of personal prestige and charisma, than a military unit. Or a band of bandits, led by the cleverest and most dominant among them. He was sure that Grey Wardens were not generally run this way. Genevieve's command style had been much like Loghain's own: her Wardens were clearly under her orders, and the boundaries were well-defined.

The girl seemed to have little respect for boundaries, but she _was_ slightly mad, after all. It was not surprising, considering the terrors and hardships she had endured. She had seen her family murdered, and been dragged away by Duncan to join a secret society that drank darkspawn blood. She had survived a massacre, and then spent months on the run, hunted as a outlaw and a traitor, with only these vagabonds for company. It had warped her, and he wondered if she would ever be able to adapt back into normal society, whatever that was.

At Ostagar she had been quiet and tentative, not the exuberant girl he remembered. She had come to see him on her arrival, with no particular purpose, other than, he supposed, to reassure herself that the entire world had not changed overnight. Pity for her had made him abrupt and dismissive. He had had trouble meeting those wounded dark eyes that begged him to make things right for her. The looming disaster of the battle made it impossible to promise her anything, and he knew enough of Wardens to realize that she might be dead within hours anyway. Things could never be right for her, and he would not lie and pretend otherwise.

For some reason, Duncan had summoned her to the council before the battle. She had survived her Joining, and looked a little dazed, her eyes flicking anxiously between Duncan and himself as the debate surged back and forth. Cailan offered her fulsome congratulations, and she clearly thought him an idiot, though she thanked him civilly enough. When ordered to light the beacon, she accepted without a demur, even offering to go alone. Desperate to please, he had thought at the time.

How did she now perceive Loghain? She had accepted him so whole-heartedly. She confided in him, fought beside him with unwavering faith in his skill and loyalty, defended him from the verbal attacks of her other companions. Was he a replacement for Duncan? For her father? For—Alistair? He shuddered.

"Ally" was perhaps the safest word: allied they were in their determination to save Ferelden. They would fight together to achieve that goal, and then?

What then? If Avernus had the right of it-and Loghain had no reason to assume he did not—all of this pondering was meaningless, for a Warden must die to kill the Archdemon, and Loghain was resolved that he himself would be the sacrifice.

"You're brooding, aren't you?"

There she was, giving him her nicest smile.

He grunted. "It's what I do."

That made her laugh. "And so very well, too!" She waved at the broken archway before them. "We're nearly to the docks. I do hope there's a nice big boat for us!"

The ground fell away, sloping steeply down past the Tevinter ruins to the lake shore. The little inn was tucked against the nearby bluffs. Before them, the sun was setting in sinister splendor over Lake Calenhad.

The girl cocked her head to admire it. "That's pretty," she declared. "I like those red clouds there: the ones that are gold along the edge. I'd like to have a gown in those colors."

"_Do_ you have a gown?" he wondered.

"Alas, no," she admitted. "I haven't worn a gown in a long, long time." She smiled very strangely. "I wore one at dinner my last night at home. It was was leaf green and extremely becoming, or so our old family friend Arl Howe told me. I thought it was so nice of him to say so. It's odd, the things you remember." She called out, pointing, "Look-just past the docks! I knew it!"

There was a very large craft at anchor some thirty yards from shore. The girl dashed down to the end of the pier, the dog running after her, barking. Leliana was caught up in the excitement of the moment and rushed past Loghain.

Morrigan came up beside him, and nodded with satisfaction. "'Twould be a great improvement over all this walking!"

Loghain shrugged. The rest seemed pleased. Loghain did not like the idea of entrusting himself to something over which he had no control at all, but it would no doubt get them to Redcliffe considerably faster.

The girl called to the ship's master, who hallooed back at her. The girl nodded, waving her arms, and shouted an agreement.

She ran back to Loghain.

"He'll take us, but he's not leaving just yet. He's waiting for his brother-in-law, he says. At sunrise tomorrow, though, he's on his way, and he'll take us to Redcliffe for ten sovereigns. It's outright robbery, but who knows when another boat of that size will put in? Sailing is such fun! I hope he lets me take a turn at the wheel."

"You know how to steer a boat?" Leliana asked in surprise.

"No, but how hard can it be? Ordinary mortals do it all the time!" The girl answered with sublime confidence.

"Do remember that it's not easy to swim in armor," Avernus said in his driest manner.

The landlord greeted them with cautious good cheer, not pleased with the number of them. He recognized the girl, and seemed well-disposed toward her. And then he recognized Loghain, and was clearly frightened and confused.

"My lord!"

Wearily, Loghain told the man, "No titles, no ceremony. We need rooms and a meal. There are eight of us-"

Ranger barked.

"-nine of us with the dog."

There were only three rooms available, the quivering landlord told him, looking to the girl for support.

"That's right, I remember," she agreed. "How are you? No more insane cultists lurking about?"

"None, thanks to you, Warden," the man told her gratefully. "Nary a one dared to show his face here after you dealt with them. Well, we did find those fingers by the sacks, but they were from your time, so no trouble at all, really."

"I'm so glad. I found where they came from and wiped them out." She turned to Loghain. "I told you about those dragon cult members from the Frostbacks. They were hanging about here, spying, and then they tried to ambush us, poor sods."

Loghain scowled, thinking. "Only three rooms?"

The landlord burst out, "You could also have the quarters over the boathouse, my lord! No one's using it. I'll send out the servants to make up the beds. There are an extra three rooms right there and it's more private-like."

"Oh, I definitely think we want the boathouse, don't we, Loghain?" the girl remarked.

"Yes, We'll take it," Loghain agreed. The others were already spreading out in the common room, alarming some of the regulars. He lowered his voice. "Bring out some ale, but don't offer our party any choice of dinner. We'll all have the same thing, whatever it is!"

"Yes, my lord!"

The girl added, "And see if you can give us a plate of cookies for after." She shrugged at Loghain. "Sten likes cookies." She asked the innkeeper, "By the way, what's happened to old Kester?"

"Gone, Warden," she was told. The Templars would not relinquish control of the Circle ferry, and Kester had gone away to live with his daughter and son-in-law on their farm south of the docks. "Not happy about it, of course," the innkeeper said, "but he can see the lake from the house."

Oghren tugged the girl's arm, whispering to her.

"Excuse me." She gave the innkeeper a nice smile, and Loghain a brilliant one, and followed the dwarf over to a corner. A dwarf woman appeared from the kitchen, and Oghren's whispers became urgent. Loghain accepted the offered ale, and leaned against the wall, unable to take his eyes away from the scandalous spectacle of that pretty young noblewoman acting as go-between for Oghren and his barmaid.

_"Tell her you've been thinking about her,"_ the girl hissed in the dwarf's ear.

"Uh-Felsi-I've been-thinking about ya," the dwarf parroted.

Loghain rolled his eyes. Now the girl was spinning some absurd lie-absolutely straight-faced-about Oghren taking on an army of golems single-handed. And the woman was not-_surely not_-oh, Maker-she was pretending to disbelieve, but clearly she was just as gullible as everyone else once the girl got at them.

Oghren was shuffling, but the light of victory was in his eye. The woman was softening, her totally justified suspicion was fading, replaced with a horrifying tenderness. The girl was backing away tactfully, her work done. Loghain downed his ale, and ordered another.

"Felsi!" the innkeeper interrupted the scene. "Felsi! Get over to the boathouse and make up the beds." He beckoned the dwarf woman closer, and told her in a self-important whisper. "Put the best sheets on the big bed there. Teyrn Loghain and the Warden will be wanting that one."

Loghain considered hitting the wall, and then considered setting the man straight, but it was impossible to do either of those things with any dignity. Or he could just kill him, but that might delay dinner. Luckily the girl was talking to Wynne and Zevran, laughing with them about the success of her intervention on Oghren's behalf.

How had the innkeeper got such an idea n his head? What in their behavior had led the man to conclude such a thing? Was it just the fact that the girl was young and pretty? And that she smiled at him the way she did? He stared into his tankard, glumly imagining the rumors that would spread from this inn like the blight sickness itself.

Dinner was served, and he flung himself onto a bench, brooding over the fish stew with cheesebread. The girl, predictably, sat down beside him. He tried to rebuff her attempts at conversation, but she was a very difficult individual to ignore. The dog shoved his massive head between them, begging for scraps.

"The dog wants another bowl of the stew," Loghain told the innkeeper. The dog whined, and Loghain added, "And give him some of the bread, too."

"You are so nice to Ranger," the girl said, big eyes approving. The dog agreed. "So understanding. You must have had a mabari once yourself."

"I might have," Loghain grunted, "long ago." The dog licked his hand.

The cookies were inhaled nearly as soon as they arrived. Sten nodded in satisfaction. "A new kind. The use of the spices was agreeable. I shall remember this variation."

Replete at last, the dog waddled to the fireplace. He stretched out in front of the fire and promptly fell asleep. The girl murmured something in Leliana's ear. Flashing a smile, the red-headed girl rose and searched through her belongings for the pack she always had with her. She unwrapped her triple-necked lute, and handed Maude a little tambour drum. The talk in the common room faded into excited whispers at the prospect of some entertainment.

Felsi slipped through the door, finished with her tasks, and sat with Oghren. No, she was actually sitting on Oghren's lap. Loghain nearly laughed at the sight of Wynne's forced smile. More ale was brought, and everyone was glad of it.

Between them the girls put on quite a show. Loghain had expected this skill of an Orlesian bard, but he had not imagined the girl could sing so well. Their song was an Orlesian tune Loghain recognized, but did not understand.

_"L'homme, l'homme, l'homme armé,_  
_L'homme armé—_  
_L'homme armé doibt on doubter, doibt on doubter._  
_On a fait partout crier,_  
_Que chascun se viengne armer_  
_D'un haubregon de fer._  
_L'homme, l'homme, l'homme armé—_  
_L'homme armé doibt on doubter."_

Their voices wove through the song, singing together and then breaking into a round. The girl played a clever, insistent rhythm on the little drum. The innkeeper was wiping tankards, smiling to himself, while the rest of the company waved heads, fingers, and goblets in time. The girls finished, to great applause. They bowed grandly to their audience, and then, with elaborate courtesy, to each other. The girl gave Loghain a saucy smile.

He growled, "_Must_ you sing that Orlesian tripe?"

Disappointed, the girl protested, "It's a good song!"

"Oh, _Loghain!_" Wynne scolded.

"I do know it in the King's Tongue," Leliana assured him with tipsy solemnity. She immediately burst into song again:

_"Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms_  
_Fills the folk, fills the folk with dread alarms,_  
_With dread alarms._  
_Everywhere I hear them wail_  
_'Find a good strong coat of mail_  
_Perhaps you'll then prevail.__'__"_

Maude picked it up immediately, and began singing with her, beating her drum with renewed enthusiasm_. _Loghain watched her, brows contracted in a frown.

There was more applause as the girls finished, Maude pounding a final flourish on the drum. She shook her head. "It sounds much better in Orlesian. I learned my accent singing that song."

"And it is a very good accent: very _pure,_" Leliana complimented her.

Oghren cackled, bouncing Felsi on his knee. _"Pure!"_

"What about a proper Fereldan song?" Loghain challenged the girl. "Don't you know any of those? Don't you even know _The Wild Fereldan Girl? _That's about a kinswoman of yours, for Maker's sake!"

"It's a song about a kinswoman of mine who got her head cut off!"

"I _like_ that song," he declared. "My mother used to sing it."

That made her laugh. "Oh, very well! Leliana, if I may-" The girl took up the lute, and set about retuning it. "I don't play anywhere as beautifully as Leliana," she admitted, "but I do know that song. Yes, Loghain, _obviously_ I had to learn it. My mother and I had a long, long conversation about it once when I was really getting interested in arms training, because she wanted me to understand the possible consequences that women warriors face. So," she raised her voice to tell the room, "this song is about the early days of the rebellion, when my great-great aunt Brynn Cousland was fighting for King Brandel, and it tells about how she came to a very sticky end."

Loghain scowled, "Brynn Cousland was a true patriot."

"Yes, she was a true patriot who came to a very patriotic, very, _very_ sticky end—much stickier than in the song. Anyway, here it is." She struck a few chords by way of introduction, and then began to strum an accompaniment.

_"There was a wild Fereldan girl,_  
_Brynn Cousland was her name._  
_She was born beside the Waking Sea_  
_In a castle known to fame._  
_Her eye was bright, her face was fair,_  
_Her teeth as white as pearl._  
_A credit to the Coastlands was_  
_The Wild Fereldan Girl._

_On the fifteenth day of Bloomingtide,_  
_The King was hard beset._  
_The traitor banns took foreign gold, _  
_A shame they would regret._  
_Brynn Cousland cut her way through them_  
_Her silver sword a-whirl,_  
_And that is how she saved the King,_  
_The Wild Fereldan Girl._

_'Who captures her wins great reward,'_  
_The false pretender swore._  
_A chevalier searched far and wide_  
_And hated her full sore._  
_The trap was sprung, the blow was struck_  
_By that cruel Orlesian churl,_  
_And that is how they captured her,_  
_The Wild Fereldan Girl._

_The true Fereldans wept for her,_  
_The axe went up and down,_  
_And her fair head was hung on high_  
_O'er Amaranthine Town._  
_The chevalier, he kept of her_  
_A single bloody curl,_  
_And that is how she met her end,_  
_The Wild Fereldan Girl."_

"That was wonderful!" cried Leliana. "What a beautiful song. Sing it again, so I can learn it!" And Maude did, now with Leliana singing along and playing the drum to drive the music faster.

A few more pitchers of ale, and a few more repetitions, and everyone was singing it, with the exception of Morrigan and Avernus, who were still discussing magical theory with admirable composure. But their feet were tapping along, whether they knew it or not.

But the song, like all songs, came to its inevitable end. The party ended abruptly, as Oghren swept Felsi away to her room off the kitchen, the giggling woman flung over his shoulder.

"Well, I'm off to the boathouse, _right now," _Maude declared, finishing a last tankard.

"Ah, yes, the boathouse," Avernus agreed. "Important Warden business."

Loghain was already out the door.

The rest were forced to spend the night under the same roof as Oghren's noisy reunion with his old flame, though luckily on the floor above. Morrigan discovered that if she moved quickly, she could have a room entirely to herself. It was directly over Felsi's, but Morrigan _was _a mage, after all, and could made the room perfectly silent with a wave of her staff.

Loghain, lightheaded as he was, still had no trouble finding the room with the big bed, and wondered if he should attempt to be polite and let the girl have it. Avernus claimed the next room for himself and shut the door. Loghain wandered back into the little kitchen of the boathouse, where a cot was made up. It was clearly too short for him. It was the big bed or the floor.

Where was the girl?

He leaned out of the crumbling window and saw her standing on the shore of the lake, gazing at the moon. Just the sort of thing she would do, of course. She needed her sleep, if they were all getting on that damned boat tomorrow. He went down the ladder-like stairs and strode out toward the lake after her.

She did not turn, but seemed to sense him, for she gestured and said, "Isn't it gorgeous, Loghain? The lake, the moon, the tower, and the boat? Doesn't it make a lovely picture? I wish I were any good at drawing."

"I am shocked that your accomplishments are so meager," he snorted, standing beside her. "What are young Ferelden ladies coming to, these days?"

"I am _very_ accomplished, thank you very much!" she replied haughtily. She had _really_ had too much to drink. But so had he. She said, "I can sing, play the lute-indifferent well-speak Orlesian and a bit of Antivan, use the right fork, dance superbly, keep household accounts, harass servants, choose wines, roast fowls, track game, shoot straight, pick locks, cut throats, brew poisons, crown kings, and slay dragons. Show me any other noblewoman in Ferelden who can do as much!"

"A prodigy! I'm impressed."

"So you should be!" She scowled. "I really need to get out of my armor, Loghain. And I'd like a bath, too. Let's go swimming!"

"Maude, you're drunk. Right here in sight of the inn?"

"No! We can go around the boathouse by those rocks. It'll sober us up, too. Come on!" Before she could move, Loghain had grabbed her arm.

"No swimming in the dark, on the rocks, while drunk. That would be be-let's see-yes, I believe 'stupid' is the word I'm looking for. Come to the boathouse, and I'll help you out of your armor. The barmaid left some wash water for us there."

The girl was unhappy, but followed along. "I really like swimming, but I suppose it's not a good idea, now that you put it like that." She stopped, and resisted Loghain's impatient yank. "Loghain, wait-"

"What now?"

"You knew me before Ostagar. Do I seem-different-to you?" There was an urgent note in her voice he had not heard before, and it made him curious.

"Of course you're different. You were a practically a child the last time I saw you before you became a Warden. And when I saw you at Ostagar you had just lost your family."

"No-I mean-" She paused, and glanced nervously toward the lake. She bit her lip, her pale face nearly white in the moonlight. "Do you think that I'm not-right-sometimes? I mean-odd?"

"I believe 'eccentric' is the word used among the nobility."

"So you _do_ think something is wrong with me. Sometimes I think so, too." She came closer, searching his face. "Nobody else knew me at all before the battle, except for Alistair, and that was just for a few hours. Sometimes I think that something happened to me."

He sighed. "Maude, I think a great deal has happened to you. Of course these things change a person."

She only looked sad. "You don't understand," she said. "It happened at Ostagar. Have you ever wondered how I escaped?"

"Yes," he admitted. "You told me the Tower of Ishal was full of darkspawn. You got to the top and lit the beacon-too late."

She winced, and he felt a thrill of shame. Ostagar was hardly his finest hour, either.

She licked her lips, and said, "We lit the beacon and we congratulated each other. And then this mob of darkspawn charged into the room and-" she frowned, "-I was killed. I think."

"You _are _drunk."

"Yes. I suppose that's why I'm telling you this. I've never told anyone else. I awakened many days later in Flemeth's hut. I know what I was told about how Flemeth rescued us, but Alistair was unconscious, too, so I suppose I'll never know the truth of it. Anyway, Alistair was very surprised to see me when I stepped out of Flemeth's hut. He said he thought I was dead for sure. Maybe he was right. For some reason, Flemeth wanted me alive, but she didn't really know how to put me back together properly. Or didn't really care, as long as everything worked, more or less."

"_Flemeth_ rescued you?"

"See what I mean? It already sounds dodgy. Why would she rescue us, anyway? Maybe she doesn't want the whole land consumed by the Blight, because then she'd have to move, but it's not like she was in any danger whatever from the darkspawn. I was told-by Morrigan-that Flemeth assumed the form of a huge bird and carried us off in her claws. That part might be true. But Morrigan told me my injuries were severe, including a cracked skull. And I have these scars across my breasts..." Her voice drifted off, blending with the sound of the water lapping at the shore. "Three scars obviously made by arrows. The one over my heart can only be from a mortal wound. She left them there, I think, to remind me that I live only because she willed it so..."

"Come on," Loghain growled. "You're going to bed."

Unarming in a bedchamber was different that in camp, or in a shabby room in a ruined castle. It was even different than in an inn, for small as it was, this was a house, and not an impersonal public space. He swore as he fumbled at her buckles, his fingers clumsy with drink.

"That's a nice bed," she remarked. "Where's my room?"

"You're sleeping here," he told her. "I'll sleep in the kitchen."

"No, you won't," she disagreed. "You can't possibly fit on that mingy little cot, unnaturally tall as you are."

"I shall sleep on the floor."

"That makes no sense at all," she disagreed. "We have a lovely big bed. You may have half. Consider it a present."

"Certainly not. Can you imagine the talk?"

"That tickles," she laughed, as he unfastened the strap at the top of her thigh. "What difference does it make what people say? They'll make up whatever lies they like, no matter what we do. Besides, we're practically married already, according to ancient Alamarri custom. The custom of my ancestors!" she proclaimed dramatically. "We dueled and I won. You gave yourself up to me. There's a precedent. That's what Haelia Cousland did to win Bann Rothgar of Breaker's Cove!"

He finished her buckles, and gave her a shove, causing her to sit down on the bed, bouncing a little. "You cheated!" he snarled.

She smiled at him, chin tilted up impudently. "Doesn't matter."

He yanked her up. "Get to work."

"Yes, my lord!" She might have been staggering a little, but her hands were quick and deft. She had him out of his armor in short order, then carelessly threw off her own gambeson, and tugged on his.

"I can do that!" he said, pushing her away, while he undressed.

"Suit yourself." She pulled at the neckline of her shirt, looking down at her breasts unhappily. "These horrible scars..."

Loghain paused, torn between panic and desire. "Don't even think of showing me your breasts!"

"I won't," she said sadly. "I don't blame you for not wanting to see anything so ugly-"

A loud baying split the night. Ranger had awakened alone in the common room. Bursting out of the inn, he dashed, barking, to the boathouse. He struggled up the steep stairs and whimpered at the door.

Loghain covered the distance in a few strides and let the dog in. With a grateful "Whuff," Ranger ran into the bedroom, sprawling happily in the middle of the bed.

"Well, there you are, Loghain," the girl said. "My dog is here to defend your honor from me. I'll sleep on this side of Ranger, and you sleep on that side, because sleeping on the floor when we have all this bed would be monumentally stupid." She lay down beside the dog and was out as her head hit the pillow.

The room spun slowly. Loghain sighed, and sat on the far edge of the bed. Then he sighed again, and lay back, tired beyond words. The ancient Alamarri custom probably included half-ownership of the dog, he hoped.

* * *

At first light, Loghain was awakened by the dog, who walked heavily over him to jump down from the bed and beg to go out. Loghain joined him, and returned to find the girl up, half-dressed, washing, and very penitent.

"I want to apologize for my appalling conduct last night," she said, her sweet voice soft and humble. Loghain listened carefully for any of those tricks of hers. "I had far too much to drink, but that is no excuse for taking advantage of my position to imply that I had any personal rights to-you." She blushed and looked down. "I behaved in an inappropriate and unworthy way, and I beg your pardon."

"Hmph," he grunted. "Does that mean our marriage is over?"

"Oh!" She almost laughed, and shot him a naughty glance under her lashes. "Only if you want it to be."

He scowled at her, and then pushed her up against the wall, staring into her eyes. "A certain degree of innocent flirting is understandable, especially when you've had more than your measure-which I strongly urge you to avoid in future. However, _do not_, in the cold light of morning, start something you do not wish to finish. Do you understand me?"

Her dark eyes were very wide, and her mouth was slightly open in surprise. "I-think so."

"See that you do. Now let's rouse the rest of the vagrants before the boat leaves."

"The boat! It's going to be such fun, Loghain! Sailing over the lake of the Silver Knight to our destiny..."

"Don't talk rubbish. You sound like Cailan."

"Sorry..."

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Piceron, Aoihand, Carnie Heart, Shakespira, Eva Galana, sleepyowlet, Guile, motive, Amhran Comhrac, sapphiretoes, mille libri, Sarah1281, , Enaid Aderyn, Costin, Reyavie, Zarelle, Beriathwen, and JenCarpeDiem. I appreciate your ideas and your support._

_If you are interested in the tunes, I have posted links on my author page. L'homme armé was a big hit of the mid-15th century. And The Wild Ferelden Girl, obviously, is The Wild Colonial Boy in Thedosian dress._

_L'homme armé can be translated more literally as:_

_"The armed man is to be feared. Everywhere it is proclaimed that each man shall arm himself with a coat of iron mail."_


	7. Persuasion and Equivocation

**The Keening Blade**

_(Spoilers for The Stolen Throne below)_**  
**

**Chapter 7:**** Persuasion and Equivocation  
**

Eerie and lowering, the clouds scudded overhead, as the _Lady of the Lake_ sailed south to Redcliffe.

Perhaps any weather would have seemed ominous to Loghain at this point. They were going to Redcliffe, about which he had a very _bad_ feeling. He was not a superstitious man, and had no belief in omens and very little in destiny, but he still had a bad, _bad_ feeling about it all.

Not so the girl, who was happily at the wheel of the ship, wind in her hair, looking very much the picture of the dauntless, high-spirited adventurer. The skipper had told her what to do, and she was doing it. It was one of those things, he supposed, that he should trust that she could do, because she_ said_ she could do it.

The wind puffed their sails just so; the hull cut through the water, leaving a white wake behind. They were making good time to Redcliffe; and their little fellowship was lounging on board, content to rest, to eat and drink, to chat, to clean and sharpen weapons. Wynne was mending some linen, her mouth pursed as she stitched neatly and efficiently. She glanced up at him and her needle pierced the linen in her hands with an eloquent little stab.

Zevran and Leliana were pointing excitedly at a large and silvery school of fish, just under the water near the bow. Loghain hoped neither of them would fall over the rail and drown, but if they did, it would not be he who saved them. He was feeling remarkably comfortable just where he was. Ranger agreed, sprawling doggily next to him, head on Loghain's knee.

Pointless to post a guard. One could sleep on the deck, for here was the one place in all Thedas perfectly safe from the darkspawn. In all the stories, Loghain had never heard of darkspawn _swimming._ He nearly chuckled at the picture that made. Cailan had known nothing of such a thing, and Cailan had made himself an expert, as far as an outsider who had not downed a goblet of darkspawn blood could be an expert, in all matters pertaining to the Grey Wardens. Loghain idly wondered where Cailan's books were. Perhaps he should find them and read them…

That was the irony to end all ironies. He now wished he had listened more closely to _Cailan_ when he was yammering on and on and on about the bloody boring _Grey Wardens._

He should ask Avernus, and looked around for the old man. The mage was sitting on a cask, predictably speaking quietly with Morrigan.

"Avernus!" Loghain called out. "Do darkspawn swim?"

The mage looked amused, and then knit his brows in thought.

"Not possible," Avernus pronounced. "That was actually tested by a Tevinter mage during the Second Blight. They sank like stones. Or bones. What have you."

"So glad!" said Maude brightly. "Wouldn't that be horrid—a pack of genlocks paddling toward us with their daggers between their teeth like darkspawn pirates?" She smiled radiantly, and repeated, with high glee, "Darkspawn _pirates! _Imagine!"

The heads of the ship's crew all swiveled toward her as one, eyes glazed with terror.

Loghain raised his voice. "She was just saying that there are _no _darkspawn pirates! I repeat: _no darkspawn pirates!_ We have just determined that it is impossible," he reassured the crew. "It has been proven that darkspawn cannot swim."

Trembling, the men returned to their duties.

Maude was still grinning. "Arrrgh!"

"Don't terrorize the sailors, Maude," Loghain growled. "They'll jump over the side, and then where will we be?"

"In my power," Maude said, with great satisfaction.

"Exactly," he muttered.

"Teyrn Loghain?" Leliana was approaching, bright-eyed and bright-haired, and sank down beside him gracefully, crossing her legs.

"Just Loghain," he corrected her.

"Oh, of course. I beg your pardon, It is just—" she dimpled at him. "You must have great stories of King Maric…"

"You want a new insight into the ones they tell in Orlais?" he asked, lifting a brow at her.

"You think they do not admire King Maric in Orlais? They do, of course: there is nothing like a dashing rebel prince to fire the imagination."

"Even if he rebels against you?"

"Of course! It makes him roguish—much more romantic."

_Dashing? Roguish? Romantic?_ Loghain frowned. The boy he remembered meeting had been none of those things. He had been dirty, frightened, and bewildered that day. His mother, the Rebel Queen, had been murdered in front of him. He had stumbled into the outlaw camp commanded by Loghain's father Gareth, and told stupid lies. He drew the Orlesians down on them, and Gareth had been killed protecting Maric's escape. How Loghain had hated him then. He had hated him for some time until Maric had _forced_ his friendship upon him.

He glanced over at Leliana, waiting eagerly. "You like stories about Maric?"

"Oh, very much! I love the one in which he fought off dozens of chevaliers with only a handful of men! They were on a hilltop, and there was Prince Maric, wearing his mother's purple cloak…"

Loghain stared at her in disbelief. He could let the bard think her pretty thoughts, but—why should he? "That was me," he said flatly.

She stared back, confused. Loghain could see Maude listening. He raised his voice.

"Sorry to disabuse you, but that was me, in the purple cloak, on the hilltop, fighting the bloody mob of chevaliers. I wore a helmet to hide my hair, and the Queen's purple cloak, and I created a diversion so Maric could escape. The old Arl of Redcliffe was commanding the rebel forces then, and he left me to die—an heroic sacrifice for King and Country."

"But you_ didn't_ die," Maude said, seemingly very proud of him.

"No—his daughter Rowan—"

"Maric's future Queen—" Leliana breathed.

Loghain grimaced. "Rowan disobeyed orders and rode to my rescue and saved my worthless hide. The Queen's cloak was completely ruined. Maric learned to be dashing and roguish and romantic _after_ he was king. He got to be quite good at it, too-or so the ladies tell me."

The bard was still staring at him, not exactly disappointed, but clearly needing to adjust her opinions. Loghain felt very contrary, and had more to say.

"You want a story about King Maric? Here's one: 'One day, King Maric was bored with ruling Ferelden, as he so often was. He decided it would be a good idea to take a long sea voyage. The ship sank and he was drowned. He left a kingdom and a young son to care for themselves as they could. And that was the end of dashing, roguish, _romantic_ King Maric.'"

"You are still angry with him for dying," Leliana observed gravely.

"I suppose I am. If he were here, everything would be different."

Maude was thinking it over. "We have no way of knowing it would be _better._ I can think of all sorts of ways it might be worse, in fact. Anyway, nothing's going to happen to _this _ship. I won't allow it."

He gestured brusquely at her. "Then keep your eyes on the water!"

She laughed, sweet and merry. "So I shall! This is so much fun. The ship feels alive under my hands. Do you want to take a turn, Loghain? It's nice."

"I'd rather loaf in the sun and let someone else do the work," he snorted. "It has the charm of novelty."

He lay back and dozed, very pleasantly. Here, far from the bones of the earth, he seemed to have lost his connection with the darkspawn. Loghain slept, and his dreams were benign and unremarkable. Except for that one with the girl, dressed—no—_undressed_ like an Antivan dancer, complete with those anklets with the little silver bells…

* * *

"Too much smoke," Loghain said, studying the Redcliffe docks from the safety of the _Lady of the Lake._

The girl agreed. "And no one on the docks. This time of day there should at least be fishermen there."

The companions stood at the rail, considering the sight before them.

"Perhaps," Morrigan said, voicing something others did not wish to say, "the darkspawn have already come and gone."

Sten shook he head, his mouth drawn down in concentration. "The castle is not in flames. It appears intact. The village has been sacked, perhaps."

"—or the bastards are there, sacking while we stand here jawing," Oghren interrupted. "Boss, have that boat commander or captain or whatever you call him move this sodding water wagon _over __there_ so we can get the Stone off of it!"

The journey by water had been distressing for the dwarf. To have no reliable stone over his head had been a great adjustment for him already. To have nothing more than a flimsy wooden skin separating him from deep water was in every way horrible. He grunted, "I'd face the Archdemon gladly, just to set my boots on solid ground! Let's just go and kill everything between us and the castle and be done with it!"

"For myself," Zevran shrugged, "I have enjoyed our little pleasure cruise. A delightful interlude. But the darkspawn await, and I suspect they await us—" he pointed at the silent, smoking village, "—right there."

It took every bit of the girl's legendary charm to persuade the skipper to approach the harbor. The terrified fellow was sweating and muttering curses as Maude stood beside him, murmuring encouragement. The rest of the five man crew was shaky and near panic, as they drew nearer to shore, and it became more and more apparent that Redcliffe was under attack.

"Just a_ little_ closer," Maude coaxed them. "As soon as we're up to the dock, put a gang plank out. We'll be off the ship in a flash, and you can put out again right away."

"My dear child," Avernus said gently. "Why don't you let me handle them? I can just give them a _nudge_—"

The captain's eyes widened with fear. Maude saw it and shook her head.

"Thank you so much, Avernus, but I'm sure it's not necessary," the girl said, speaking softly and soothingly, in her sweet, insinuating tones. "I _know_ we can come to an understanding. The captain is just going to edge up to the dock, and throw over a gangplank. We won't take a moment to get off his ship, and then he can get clean away. Doesn't that sound reasonable?"

Her voice throbbed with persuasion. The sailor's heads bobbed up and down. Like puppets, Loghain thought, his teeth on edge. He hated to hear the girl talking like this, but it was certainly effective on the weak-minded. Avernus was eyeing her with real interest.

He and Sten and the old mage stood behind her, glaring at the terrified sailors, fingering their weapons in silent menace. With one thing and another, their point was gained, and there was time for a hasty mouthful of food to sustain them before they stepped onto the docks of Redcliffe, into yet another fine mess.

The village was burning, but slowly. The first ogre materialized as they rounded a corner.

Green haze spat toward them, catching Leliana, who yelped. Morrigan froze the ogre, and Loghain and Maude and Ranger rushed toward it, ready to hack at the creature.

"Sten! Oghren!" the girl shouted, "Get that emissary!"

From long practice, the group split into well-defined teams, each hunting down the darkspawn roaming the village square. It was the largest party of darkspawn Loghain had faced in months, and it was a powerful one, for there was another ogre rushing at them, head down to smash them. It froze, struck by Wynne's magic. Leliana and Zevran threw themselves on it with murderous abandon.

Their own ogre was flagging, kicking out desperately with a massive foot. Loghain was startled and impressed as the girl actually vaulted up onto the huge leg, swung up over its back, and stabbed down into the arteries where the neck joined the shoulder. The creature groped blindly at her, gouts of blood pumping from the wound, showering the girl with red rain.

She jumped lightly from the dead body as it crashed to the ground, instantly running to face the other ogre. Loghain was beside her, rather stirred by the fight. Sometimes he forgot that the girl was not just a pretty face and a beguiling voice.

"This is disgusting," she told him, dancing past the second ogre as it fell. "I'm going to have to jump in the lake, armor and all!"

"I think I'm going to have jump in with you," he grunted, Darkspawn entrails decorated his greaves. Rather full and squashy entrails. The smell was unbelievable. He kicked them away, grimacing.

The creatures lay dead around them. Avernus had done something to the other end of the square that had engulfed the darkspawn in a fury of lightning. These darkspawn smelled as if they had been roasted from the inside out. Without first having been properly gutted.

"Maybe ice is a better spell choice," Maude said to Loghain. "It doesn't smell as bad, anyway. Speaking of which, I really have to rinse off, unless one of you mighty mages knows a spell to clean off blood and guts."

"Magic is not to be used for such friv—" Wynne began. She was silenced by the sight of Avernus pointing his staff at Maude. A powerful jet of water burst from the end. Once she was rinsed, he turned his attention to Loghain, and then Leliana and Zevran.

Sten stepped up for his turn. "A showerbath!" he observed. "I have not seen such a thing since I left Seheron. Most civilized, even though produced by a mage."

Maude hustled Ranger, and finally Oghren into the range of the staff/hose. "This is wonderful!" she enthused. "How clever you are, Avernus! Morrigan, you really ought to learn this!"

"Except that now we're sodding wet," complained Oghren.

"Yes," Maude declared, "But we smell _much_ better. Let's search the village."

By twos, the companions explored the village for any more of them lying in wait. Leliana and Maude relieved the darkspawn corpses of their valuables. The door to the Chantry was barred, and no one responded to their calls and pounding.

"We might as well go up to the castle," Loghain decided. "If they don't want to come out, it's not worth our time to hunt them down."

They hiked up the steep hill, first to the tavern, which stood open and empty. Oghren's suggestion that they check out the cellars was vetoed, and he was dragged along the twisting uphill path to the castle road.

And there they saw their first survivor.

"You!" Loghain shouted. "Stop!"

The man froze in place at the sound of Loghain's voice raised in command. When questioned, it transpired that he was a villager who had nearly been caught by the darkspawn when he returned for some valuables. Loghain sneered at him, wondering if he had been looking for his own valuables, or those of others. The man, for some reason, seemed eager to get away from them. Perhaps it was the diluted blood dripping from the dwarf's beard.

"Yes—they've reached the castle, I know. I just—"

"Well, we cleared out the village quite thoroughly," Loghain told him. "You can hide there or you can follow us to the castle."

"I'm sure we can spare you a weapon," Maude added, with an encouraging smile.

The man fled. Loghain snorted with contempt. Throughout this crisis, the average Fereldan had not made a very impressive showing. When he thought about it, though, he remembered that had been true during the rebellion as well.

Before them lay the way to the castle, and a courtyard filled with darkspawn. But after all, darkspawn were hardly a match for their fellowship. They charged.

"This can't be the horde!" Loghain shouted, as his sword separated a darkspawn's head from its torso. "This isn't more than a large warband!"

Maude shrugged and tore through another hurlock. "Maybe we're just awesome! Yes!" she exulted, doing a little victory dance on its ribcage. "We _are_ the awesome darkspawn slayers. See us, Ferelden, and tremble!" Ranger barked his approval, leaping for another scraggy throat.

The ground shook with earthquake and storm spells, and the foe laid down and died with pathetic speed. Another ogre charged and was dispatched like a rat in a larder. Loghain admitted that they _were_ good. Crazy and light-fingered and rude, but by the Maker! They could kill darkspawn!

So, while he hated Redcliffe Castle and all the living members of the Guerrin family, and thought their entire journey to this place was a monumental waste of time, Loghain was feeling rather good about himself and his companions by the time the timorous guards thanked the Maker for their presence, and led them to the Great Hall. The girl murmured to Avernus, briefing him on the people they were about to meet.

Anora was there, looking well, and appearing relieved to see him alive. That was something. Everything else was thoroughly revolting.

Those two pompous asses, the Guerrin brothers, stood on the dais at the end of the hall, lording it over everyone else. At least Anora was beside them. Alistair, however was not, which puzzled him briefly, until his attention was riveted by the Orlesian Warden, Riordan, who had the unmitigated gall-or typical Orlesian arrogance- to greet them as if he were lord of the manor.

"I am glad to see you alive," he said to the girl. "And you too, Loghain. And-another brother?" he said, puzzling over Avernus.

"This is Warden Avernus," Maude introduced him. "From the north," was her vague accounting of his origin. "He's come to assist us."

Avernus gave the queen an old-fashioned bow. "At your service, Your Majesty- my lords." He acknowledged Riordan with a nod. "Riordan of Jader, I presume."

"You are very welcome." Riordan looked bewildered. Clearly he had never met such an _old _Warden before in his life. Dismissing it as irrelevant for the moment, he said, "I am afraid I have grave news. The force that attacked Redcliffe is not the main body of the horde. That, alas, is headed toward Denerim."

Loghain tried to channel his burning, raging exasperation in some way that did not involve drawing his sword. The girl glanced up at him sideways, and caught his eye. He glared back her, "I told you so," all but engraved on his face.

Maude asked, "Has Denerim been warned?"

"Word has been sent," Eamon told her, "but it will take us two days to reach the capital."

Anora asked, "When will the army be ready to march?"

After some posturing, it was made clear that the army-or armies, actually-must march at dawn, ready or not. There was time for a meal and a night's sleep, and then they would be off again, continuing their entirely unnecessary tour of Ferelden.

Riordan said, "Before you retire for the night, we have Warden business to discuss. Meet me in my chamber where we can speak privately."

Loghain turned away without acknowledging him. At least the Orlesian fraud hadn't instructed the girl to come alone, because Loghain simply wasn't having that.

They were shown to their rooms, and then were conducted to the dining hall, which was filled with various nobles. Ranger sniffed the air and paused, and then dashed down the corridor to the kennels, barking.

"Where's Ranger going ?" Loghain asked, surprised to see the dog leave the girl's side.

"In pursuit of romance, I would imagine," she smirked. "They must have restocked the kennels. I may not see him until tomorrow."

She then grabbed Loghain by the hand and led him to meet the leaders of the dwarves and the Dalish.

They certainly had a high opinion of the girl, who conducted herself with remarkable propriety. They were friendly enough to Loghain, caring only that he was a Warden and in this girl's company.

"This is Kardol, the commander of the Legion of the Dead," Maude said. "Once again, Kardol, my thanks for coming up to the surface to show us your skills! And this is Keeper Lanaya."

A pretty young elf woman, tattooed in the Dalish style, greeted Loghain respectfully. "We owe so much to the Grey Wardens," she told him, "Any of your order will always be welcome at our camp fire."

He nodded to her, trying not to be too obvious as he looked down the front of her robe. She had quite lovely legs, as well. He had never been a man to pursue elves. Much of that, he had always felt, was done by men who needed to bolster their own feelings of inadequacy by looming over someone small and weak. Keeper Lanaya certainly did not really look weak, but he towered over her. Besides, he had seen Maude's legs on a number of occasions, and they were possibly the nicest he had ever admired. He dismissed the lovely Lanaya from his mind.

Tactfully, Maude left him at the table with Avernus, Morrigan. and Leliana before she went to speak to the First Enchanter. That fellow, too, seemed to think well of the girl. She was smiling and talking, and a model of perfect decorum. It was so unlike her that he felt he must comment on it when she came back to sit with her company and devour an entire chicken.

"You're certainly on your best behavior tonight," he said. "Very grand. Very aristocratic."

"Surprised, Loghain? How is that possible? You knew my mother, so you know what kinds of lessons I had when I was growing up. If I concentrate, and try very hard, I won't do anything particularly bizarre, as long as the evening doesn't go on too long. It's not like being in camp when it's just us, is it? One doesn't know whom to trust outside our own company. Teagan is all right, but I'm still put out with Eamon, and I don't trust him any farther than I can throw him. I certainly don't want to give him any weapons against me. I'm hoping to settle things with Alistair while we're here, if he ever comes down to dinner."

Loghain grimaced. "You're well rid of him, as far as I can see."

"Yes, yes, yes. I know you don't like him. Somehow I had already gathered that. I, on the other hand, am very fond of Alistair. I don't like him being angry with me. First of all, he's going to be King, and being at odds with the King is very imprudent. And second, I think of him as a brother." She smiled at him whimsically. "My little brother."

"_Little_ brother? He's older than you!"

"Only in years. Besides I already have an older brother: Fergus. I don't intend to replace him. Fergus will always be my older brother, whom I love. Alistair is my little brother, and it's my duty to get on with him. As soon as he dares to come down and face me, I'll find a way to make peace." She looked away, and assumed an charming, artificial smile.

"Oh, look! Here's Teagan, coming to flirt, I daresay. Excuse me while I go do the polite."

She reluctantly set her plate aside, and stood up. Before Loghain could turn to say something to Avernus, he heard a soft, Orlesian voice in his ear.

"My lord, come with me. My mistress wishes to speak to you."

Loghain glanced up see Erlina, Anora's elven maid. He was surprised to see that everyone but Avernus at the Warden's table knew her, and more surprised to see that all who knew her were glaring.

Sweet-natured Leliana was glaring as darkly as any of the rest. "Be careful about going anywhere with _her,_ Loghain. Before you know it you'll find yourself in Fort Drakon!"

Erlina shrank back, and stood aside to let Loghain proceed. The companions stared after them, their narrowed eyes fixed on the maid.

Through a door, and then into the expected company of the one he loved most in the world.

"Father..."

* * *

She looked so anxious and hesitant that he immediately took her in his arms and kissed her brow. Perhaps she thought he would be angry with her, that he would rail at her and blame her for everything. There were little lines at the corners of her eyes and across her forehead that he had not seen before. She, poor girl, had had as hard a year as anyone else.

"Father, I am so happy to see you! I feared...I didn't know what would happen. Everything is upside down, and I have no idea what to expect. Are you well? You look...different," she said in confusion. "Almost_...younger._"

It had not occurred to him that Avernus' potion might alter his appearance. He was so pleased to be rid of the aches and the creakings and the fatigue that he had not considered other ramifications. It was certainly nothing he wished to discuss with Anora.

"I'm well: very well, in fact. Perhaps it's being out in the field, and having a clear objective that's done it. I've found out all sorts of useful things from the Wardens, and I'm more hopeful than I've ever been about the ultimate outcome of this crisis."

"You're not just saying that?" She regarded him thoughtfully. "You're not just protecting me? Please don't do that, Father. I need to know what is really going on."

"It's true. Becoming a Warden is possibly the best thing that's happened to me in a long, long time."

Her eyes brightened for moment, still wary, of course, for she was _Anora,_ after all; but hopeful, all the same.

Casually she asked, "And how are you getting on with _her_—with Maude Cousland?"

Well, that was the great question, wasn't it? Loghain tried to put the past weeks into words.

"She's not what I expected. We're getting on well together—extremely well. Her companions are certainly a motley crew, but the girl herself is devoted to Ferelden and has behaved with great generosity."

Anora was still eyeing him carefully, clearly looking for something. Loghain decided he could not let himself worry about it. After a moment, his daughter said, "I'm so glad—so relieved, Father. I found her charming and very perceptive and direct. Once we had the chance to sit down together and talk, I felt certain that she was someone I could work with. And she kept her word about everything."

Loghain smiled ruefully, picturing those two young women at their plotting. They had certainly been too much for him. "Yes, she told me about your bargain. Now you tell me: how is Alistair treating you?"

She smiled. "He's such a child in some ways. I can't say that Maude didn't warn me. Still, his heart is in the right place, and that counts for a great deal. I'll learn to live with the silly jokes in time, I'm sure." She bit her lip, and asked, "The Warden...has she said anything about me? Is she...angry with me?"

He frowned, thinking through all the girl's references to Anora. "I hardly think so. She always speaks of you with great respect. Why do you ask? Did you quarrel with her about something?"

"Not exactly," Anora sighed. "If you must know, I was not completely honest with her when I asked her to come and 'rescue' me from Howe's estate. It was a ruse on my part to see what she what she would do. Also, I knew by sending her after the man that only one would emerge from the dungeon alive. It was a way to get rid of at least one of the thorns in your side. She's very clever, Father, and she saw right through me. She wasn't pleased about having to stand down and go to Fort Drakon to keep me safe, especially since she felt I'd been playing games with her. She was quite pleasant about it afterward, but warned me not to try anything of the sort again. So you don't think she bears me any ill will?"

"No," Loghain considered. "I don't think she does. She's very pragmatic, and is fairly quick with a trick or a scheme herself. She-"

The tramp of marching feet came down the stairs and passed by the door. Anora glanced up. "That will be Alistair himself. I must go." She caught him by the shoulders and kissed his cheek. "Maker keep you, Father."

* * *

Something was going on at the Wardens' table by the time he returned. Heads were together, and there was whispering, of the kind that usually preceded someone being knifed. Leliana was making tremendous gestures at him to hurry. Loghain had no sooner sat down, than Oghren began growling out the news.

"The Boss is going to have it out with Chantry Boy. Up in the chapel. If we get there first we can see the whole thing. She'll set him straight. Or she'll wipe the floor with him. One or t'other. My money's on her, anyway."

Leliana whispered, "Alistair started to storm away, and Maude just said _"Alistair…" _The bard was impressed and excited. "It was just the way she said his name. He stopped, right there, right in his tracks, and he_ listened._ So now they are to have a heart-to-heart talk. Oh, I do hope they can be friends again!"

Eavesdropping might be ungentlemanly, but Loghain had never been much of an excuse for a gentleman. And eavesdroppers often learned very useful things. Without apology, he joined the eager audience of Leliana, Zevran, Oghren, and Morrigan, of all people.

"Sten!" Zevran hissed, "Don't you want to see this?"

"Why?" The qunari wondered. "He is utterly spineless. She will triumph over him, as always." He strode away, looking much like a walking fortification.

Hmmm. Loghain studied the retreating back. _If one could build a movable, fortified tower, and use it to approach a castle wall…_

"Naturally," Morrigan smirked to everyone else. "But 'tis the process that intrigues me."

"Where is Wynne?" Leliana asked, her eyes uneasy.

"Never fear," Zevran grinned. "Avernus asked to converse with her about some grave magical matter." He winked shamelessly, and Loghain considered wringing his neck. All the same, he was glad that Wynne was occupied, and would not interfere in what promised to be—amusing. Though he was still considering that new idea of a—what to call it? A _'Siege Tower'_ perhaps?

He was the tallest of the lurkers, so he could easily see over everyone else's heads. They positioned themselves behind a hanging arras, which was happily nearly transparent on their side, due to the coarse weave.

Maude and Alistair were already talking as they walked in. Loghain winced at the sound of the girl's voice in full 'I will talk you out of the family jewels' mode.

_I swear before the Maker: if she ever tries that trick on with me, I will…_

He ought not to complain, because it was that very trick of voice that had gained her this interview. It was utterly abominable, and perhaps he should warn Anora about it…

Maybe.

The Wardens might need a favor from the Crown someday.

He would have to think about it…

Setting that aside for the moment, he concentrated on listening.

"I don't think we have much to say to each other!"

"I think we do. Riordan Joined with Duncan, Alistair. Seeing him was so wonderful. I felt I had to trust him and respect his judgment. You and I always suspected that there were things we just did not know about the Wardens. We were right, and they're really serious things, it turns out. Riordan wasn't just being soft. Avernus told me some things that were truly alarming…"

She lowered her voice, and whispered something to him. The boy's eyes widened. It was brief, though, and Loghain smirked. She probably had not told him the whole story. Probably simply that only a Warden could kill the Archdemon.

He was still sulking. "None of that has anything to do with me. I'm not a Warden anymore."

"I know, Alistair. And you were right," she added, very earnestly, her huge eyes full of respect. "Your path is a difficult and lonely one. You were born to be King, and the very fact that you don't want to be shows what a great King you'll make."

Loghain thought he would probably vomit fairly soon.

The boy was buying it, though.

"-I can already see what a difference you've made," the girl murmured. "How much more confident everyone is. It's _you, _Alistair. I always knew the day would come when you had to follow your destiny."

Morrigan was making gagging gestures. Leliana hushed her.

"But—" the boy whined, "I always thought we'd be _together._ You and me. You could be Queen instead of Anora."

The girl shook her head, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, a sad smile on her lips. "Oh, Alistair! If only! But you told me yourself, long ago, that's it's nearly impossible for two Grey Wardens to have a child! How could I be so selfish as to put myself forward when my value as a Queen is already so compromised? I would only have been a burden in the end. I can help you as a Warden, Alistair. That's all I can ever be, now. But _you_—I saw you at dinner there—with Anora. How splendid you look together—"

He groaned.

"Yes, you do! You look wonderful together, as if you were made for each other—golden and glowing and perfect."

Leliana and Morrigan each grabbed at Loghain as he appeared ready to launch himself at the girl through the curtain. Suppressed laughter shook Oghren like a crazed bronto. Zevran was grinning, waving frantically for silence.

"We'll defeat the Blight, Alistair. I _know_ it. And you'll be a great King, because you _care._ Think of all the good you can do—the changes you can make—the people you can take care of. Where you go, I can't follow. What you have to do, I can't be any part of. If you had refused to be King, you would have regretted it: maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but soon, and for the rest of your life."

"But—" he whimpered, with the last shreds of his willpower "—_Loghain,_ Maude! How could you _do_ it?"

"I know you think I was weak, Alistair!" she admitted, in an eerie whisper. "Perhaps I was. Perhaps I was. When I saw Loghain on the floor, it was as if I saw my own father there, Alistair! My own _father,_ as he lay bleeding to death in the larder, the night my family was killed. I _couldn't_ kill him, Alistair, and I couldn't let you do it either. I _couldn't_ kill him in front of his daughter. I would have been no better than Howe."

Loghain thought this was shameless, even for the girl. And it gave Alistair something to latch onto.

He said, "Well, what about Howe? " He complained, "You got your vengeance, but I didn't get mine! If it had been Howe that Riordan had wanted to conscript, would you have done it?"

"Absolutely!" The girl gazed into Alistair's eyes with limpid sincerity. "I would do anything to stop the Blight." She laughed ruefully. "Mind you, I think it would have killed me in the end, but I would have done it. Trust me, Alistair, as you once did. It's going to be all right. All I want is to save Ferelden. And it shall be saved, even-" here her voice broke, but she smiled bravely, "—even I don't live to see it."

He swept her up in a bear hug, snuffling. "Oh, Maude! I forgive you! I still think you're wrong, but I understand. You've always spared everybody you could. With any luck, Loghain will die fighting the Archdemon!"

Loghain hissed between his teeth, forgetting that that was exactly his own plan._ You mangy little wrong-side of-the-blanket-below-stairs BASTARD… _

"That's not a nice thing to say, Alistair!" Maude reproved him sweetly, daintily wagging a finger at him. "_You _might have moved up in the world, but I'm still a lowly Warden, and I have got to _deal_ with Loghain. You shouldn't encourage me to think mean things about him. The Archdemon is much worse than Loghain: and we must always remember that."

The Boy-Who-Would-Be-King-If–Loghain-Didn't-Kill-Him-First laughed merrily. "Well, that's your problem and not mine, now! And it's your own fault." He poked her with a finger, grinning. "Remember that!"

"I'm not likely to forget!" she smiled merrily back him, reflecting his mood, his expression, and even his posture perfectly. She laid her hand on his cheek. "I'm so proud of you, Alistair! Now go back to your betrothed, and show her how lucky—how very _lucky _she is!"

He laughed and strode to the door, looking back at her with a cheeky grin. She smiled at him with just a hint of wistful regret. He was gone, then, boots echoing down the stone halls of Redcliffe.

Maude blew out a breath, and looked around as the arras was thrust aside by an enraged Loghain. She grinned at him impudently, and set one foot on a prayer rail, arms raised in victory.

Everyone but Loghain burst into applause. She bowed.

"I am awesome, " she declared. "I am the best. I can hardly credit my brilliance. My chief weapons are charm, deceit, and shameless toadying. None can withstand their power."

"Well, _I_ can bloody well withstand them!" Loghain snarled. "You're going to burn in hell, you know."

Oghren cackled. _"'The Archdemon is much worse than Loghain-'"_

Zevran chimed in. _"'We must always remember THAT!'"_

Morrigan quoted mockingly,_ "'I'm so PROUD of you Alistair! You're going to be a great king because you CARE..."_

"The Maker will forgive her!" Leliana protested earnestly. "the Prophet blesses peacemakers-"

"—the Champions of the Just!" the girl crowed, dancing around the chapel out of Loghain's reach. "Maude is the champion! Maude is the champion! Victory is mine! Alistair likes me again, even if he doesn't like you! Ha!"

Remorselessly, he pursued her into a corner and then grabbed her wrist. "'Ha,' indeed! Come on, you little lunatic. Riordan awaits us in his chamber. We mustn't disappoint our Orlesian master."

"Oh, give it a rest, Loghain!"

* * *

Clearly, Riordan did not know quite what to make of Avernus. And Avernus did not seem interested in helping him out. Instead, the old mage persisted in behaving as if Loghain were in command, which baffled Maude and irritated Riordan.

"I did not know that any Warden could be as old as you," Riordan mused. "What are you—seventy? Eighty?"

"Thirty years until one's Calling is perhaps simply an average," Avernus said calmly, giving Riordan no other information. "I am here, despite my years, and ready to do my part."

"Do you all understand-" Riordan began, with another puzzled look at Avernus "—how an Archdemon is slain?"

"We know the _theory,"_ Maude said, a little rebelliously. "Only a Warden can strike the final blow and kill the monster dead. Once struck the essence flows down the taint into the Warden. Mutual destruction. End of Archdemon and Warden. Of course, I don't believe-"

Loghain elbowed her. She shut up and glared at him from the corner of her eye.

"That is correct," Riordan said, frowning at her flippant attitude. "It is customary for the eldest to take the final blow, but since Avernus is a mage, and far too old, it is clear that the duty is mine. The Calling might have spared him, but it will not spare me much longer. If I fail, the burden falls to you."

The girl stared. "But—"

Loghain elbowed her again. She elbowed him back. Avernus cleared his throat.

"Understood," the old mage replied.

Loghain nodded sullenly, wishing to be anywhere but here, taking orders from this Orlesian charlatan. The girl was getting restive, and was clearly indignant at Riordan's appropriation of what she considered her rights. Loghain considered ways for the man to have an accident, perhaps during the night. There was no way he was allowing this interloper into their tight little fellowship, or anywhere near the girl.

"Then that is all," Riordan said, dismissing them. "I suggest you get what rest you can before tomorrow."

Maude opened her mouth to object. "But I'm still going to ki—"

Loghain laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, and leaned. She scowled at him fiercely, and shut her mouth with a snap.

Not that he thought for a moment that Riordan could dispatch the beast, but the sooner the Orlesian died a pointless death, the better.

Wanting to get the girl out of the room before she pulled her blades and went on some sort of killing spree, Loghain said, "At least this will all soon be settled—one way or another."

"It will," Riordan agreed somberly. "Let us hope it is for the best."

Understanding each other without speaking, Loghain and Avernus linked arms with the girl, and walked her out of the room, leaving the Senior Warden of Jader to his private, bemused thoughts. They covered some distance before giving their real opinion. This was partly achieved by Loghain covering the girl's mouth with his other hand until they were well down the hall.

"Phhh!" the girl took a deep breath, and made a face. "What utter rubbish! I'm so disappointed in him. How can he imagine he can tell me what to do? _Nobody_ can tell me not to kill a dragon. That is _my_ dragon, not his! What impertinence! You're so right, Loghain: Orlesians are very encroaching."

"Maude," Loghain sighed, "if this—_Riordan-_ really wants first go at the Archdemon, just let him have his way."

"Oh!" She was puzzled, but then her brow cleared. "Oh! You think he'll be killed in minutes after softening up the beast a bit. Probably. But accidents can happen, and the Archdemon is _mine!_ I saw it first. I saw it in the rotten flesh in the Dead Trenches. I've been practicing killing dragons for over a year. And now that _man_ saunters in and tries to take my dragon away!"

Avernus eyed her with dry amusement. "My dear child," he said, "Somehow I think there will be plenty of Archdemon for all of us."

* * *

_Thanks to my brilliant reviewers: Shakespira, kiti, Piceron, Sarah1281, mutive, Guilde, Alpha Cucumber, Enaid Aderyn, Beriathwen, Kizie, Eva Galana, WellspringCD, Lehni, mille libri, Amhran Comhrac, Zyanic, Reyavie, arysani, Terenbas, Prisoner 24601, and Windchime68!_

_More reviews are always welcome! I love new ideas and insights!_

_Next up: **Dark Thingy. You Know...Thingy?**_


	8. Dark Thingy You Know? Thingy?

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 8: Dark Thingy…You Know?…Thingy?**

Maude sulked all the way down the hall. Loghain smirked, picturing just which bits of Riordan would cease to be attached to his body if the Orlesian attempted to kill the Archdemon.

Avernus had more important things to discuss with him.

"I spoke to Wynne," the old mage said, "and explained in detail the necessary steps for the preservation of the Archdemon's blood. This would more appropriately be performed by Warden mages, but as we are so very thin on the ground, I deemed it necessary to trust her."

"I quite agree."

"This is an essential duty. If I am incapacitated, she must organize the Circle mages, perform the spells, and distribute the blood. I wrote a memorandum, specifying the proportion that must be sent first to Weisshaupt, and then to the other Warden posts. I have made a copy for you both," he nodded, including Maude. "We must have this blood if there are to be more Wardens for a future Blight."

He left them, disappearing into his room. Maude sighed softly.

"_Future_ Blights! I suppose we must think about the possibility, but I shall be happy when we've dealt with this one!"

"Yes, once I've slain the Archdemon—" he smirked. He opened the door to his room and waved her in.

"Oh, stop! We know how things are going to be, so there's simply no point in you teasing me like this. Oh! I almost forgot! I have something for you."

"Now what?"

"This is nice! Look!" From under her breastplate, she produced a painting...no...a map. She smoothed it carefully, saying, "This is a gorgeous one. I thought of you the moment I saw it."

Loghain scowled at her, not because he disliked the map, but because it was his habit. He lit a candle to examine it.

"This is-"

"Isn't it lovely?"

_"-exquisite."_

_'A Botanist's __Map of Thedas,'_ the elaborate printing proclaimed. Loghain had never seen anything like it. Careful annotations, rich color, whimsical little illustrations of the various plants, many of which he had never before heard. He felt his own scowl transform into a smile.

The girl said excitedly, "It makes me want to see them all! Wouldn't it be brilliant? Look at that-the 'Stalker Rose!' Wouldn't it be amazing to see a plant that eats living things? Especially since it doesn't eat anything as big as me. And the flowers are pink! I love pink roses! The Anderfels look boring, though, except for those little white flowers. _'Edelweiss.'_ I like them."

"It's an incredibly beautiful map. Thank you."

He could not help this feeling, nor did he want to. She was looking at him with those shining eyes, so full of the pleasure of pleasing him that his chest ached. His hand strayed to the tender curve of her cheek, and she smiled radiantly. Then something occurred to him.

"Where did you get this? It must be very valuable."

She gazed at him with wide-eyed innocence. "I found it," she told him proudly.

"_Where_ did you _find_ it, Maude?"

"Here. Well, downstairs, actually."

He rubbed his jaw, forcing himself not to shout. "Did you steal this?"

"It was in a chest. I was just looking around. You know...around... It was there, in a dusty old chest, and I could tell that nobody had looked at it or thought about it or wanted it for years and years. Nobody here could possibly appreciate it as much as you, so I decided you should have it."

He took a deep breath. "Maude, you can't steal from your allies. It leads to all sorts of trouble, and it's _wrong!_ I know you were at the palace of the dwarven king at Orzammar, when you killed that dragon of his. You didn't go about stealing when you were there, did you?"

She was still looking at him with those big soft eyes, but a faint furrow creased her brow. She blinked once, and after a moment, again.

Loghain tried to explode quietly. "You did, didn't you? You absolutely did. You totally looted the palace of the dwarven king!"

"It's not like I robbed anybody at sword's point _there_-"

"Bloody hell!"

"Don't be like that! Kings always have the best stuff. And as for this- I just wanted to give you something nice! Nobody cares about this. Look: it used to be framed, but you can tell from the edges that somebody took a knife and cut it out. That's horrible. People who do that to nice maps don't deserve to have them. And it was just mouldering away in a ratty old chest, completely forgotten. The frame was probably used for another ghastly portrait of_ Isolde_. Besides, it's Eamon's. We don't lilke him anyway!" she paused, scowling. "Do we?"

"No, we don't like Eamon," he wearily conceded.

"Well, there you are! You've got his lovely map, so 'ha!' on him. Look at this: 'Northern Prickleweed.' We have heaps of that in Highever. It has thorns like razors, but it blooms in the spring: masses and masses of tiny yellow flowers that the bees like..."

"_Must_ you be such a thief?"

She looked up from the map, and said bluntly, "Yes, I must. How do you think I've kept my people fed and armed? Yes, I've done a bit of Chantry-board work, and some things for the City Guard, and even a bit for the Crows, but they really didn't bring in all that much. It's not like Eamon ever _paid _me for saving his life and rescuing Redcliffe. Likewise the Circle of Magi. King Bhelen gave me an antique mace for putting him on the throne, and I can't sell that because it might get back to him. The elves of the Brecilian Forest rendered me their heartfelt thanks. None of that would buy a bowl of pea-and-lamb soup in Denerim Market! In fact," she growled, "I've been raising funds myself to put into the army-and contributing some very nice things I found: runes and jewels and gold for my allies. I've had to scrape by from the the night I left Highever. I arrived in Ostagar with a family sword, a shield I don't use, an old set of scale mail, and two silver coins in my purse. And I only had that because Mother had the sense to make me gather what I could. I realized later that night that what I had scavenged was all the dowry I would ever have."

She stroked the map gently, her fingers resting at Highever. "And I stayed at Eamon's estate in Denerim, and then I came to Redcliffe, and I found that both are completely packed with expensive crap that Eamon could have turned to gold but hasn't; while I've been pouring my own coin into his coffers. He still has his tapestries and his family silver, and Isolde has her silks and her jewels; and both places are filled with books and weapons and antiquities and paintings and ridiculous gewgaws! It makes me sick!" she snarled. "_He_ makes me sick."

"He makes me sick, too," Loghain agreed, always ready to hear Eamon Guerrin defamed. "Now stop fingering my map and set to work on my armor. You need to get your sleep."

She unarmed him willingly enough. "You need sleep, too."

He shook his head. "I never sleep before a battle. My mind whirls...it's impossible to settle."

"You shouldn't _l__et _your mind whirl. You have a lovely bed, and you need to use it." With a naughty smile, she added, "See? If you order me about, I'll do the same to you!"

"I hadn't noticed you needing an excuse to order _anyone_ about."

"Oooh! Sarcasm from you. There's a shocker."

It seemed to Loghain that her hands lingered on him a little longer than before. Her face was composed and thoughtful as she tugged on his buckles. As always, he felt a wayward thrill of excitement as she knelt to work on his greaves. He would not, _would not_ think about other things she could do for him on her knees.

And being on his knees before her was no less disturbing. It aroused complicated, painful memories that had somehow become overlaid by a profound and serendipitous liberation. Being Regent of Ferelden had been the most stressful, frustrating, miserable time of his life. In an ironic twist of fate, he had been stripped of power, and immediately initiated into an order he deeply despised. Yet it truly might be, as he had confessed to Anora, the best thing that had ever happened to him. Only as a Grey Warden, it seemed, could he do the one thing he most wanted to do: save his country.

He paused, drawing a deep breath, hand still on her thigh, fingers and thumb stroking the firm flesh in a light caress. A little gasp drew him from his thoughts. The girl was looking down at him, astonished, lips parted, eyes wide. She swallowed, and whispered, "Loghain..."

He had no idea what his own face was telling her. Whatever it was, it was something he did not want to burden her with. Giving himself a hard mental shake, he rose, and quickly piled her armor into her unresisting arms. Ignoring her mute appeal, he took her by the shoulders, and walked her out of his room.

"No...Loghain..."

"Good night, Maude."

He shut the door softly, and pressed his forehead to the cold wood, gritting his teeth. Through the heavy oak barrier, he could hear her voice, small and plaintive.

"Loghain..."

Something brushed against the door on the other side. The girl must be leaning against it, too.

_"Loghain..."_

"Go away, Maude."

She was leaving, thank the Maker. Loghain clenched a fist against the door, hard enough to whiten his knuckles, until her footsteps hesitantly moved down the hall and finally faded.

Emptying his mind of all conscious thought seemed the best course. He stripped off his shirt, splashing his face with the cold water from the basin, scrubbing angrily at his neck and shoulders and chest. He had once again done the right thing, and once again felt himself more empty than a desert.

The lovely map was abandoned on the vanity. He reached for it and sat down on the bed, spreading the map across his knees, taking refuge in a minute examination. It was an object of beauty; an artifact of learning and experience; a practical, sensible tool for comprehending and ordering the world. Loghain knew that there were things that truly were, and things only imagined, and things that not ought to be be, and things that were impossible.

He had no idea how long he stared at the map, half-unseeing, or rather seeing only the pretty, colorful plants, pausing in wonder at the many-trunked baobab tree of Seheron. It was like a tree and its mirror-image combined, and yet it was one living thing. Were these illustrations of reality or some bored scholar's fantasies? The Northern Prickleweed was real enough, but the Stalker Rose?

And then the girl's voice startled him out of his brooding. She was pounding on the door, calling out, "Loghain! Loghain! I need you right now!"

The door was thrown open, and the girl was there, barefoot in the doorway in a nearly transparent silk nightgown.

"We have to save Morrigan!" she declared, eyes blazing.

Whatever he had feared or hoped she might say, it was not that.

The nightdress must be the Arlessa's, he supposed: the finest, thinnest white silk, with little blue ribbons loosely knotted under her breasts, then falling in teasing curls. It was like nakedness, but even prettier. It was hard to comprehend what the girl was saying, distracted as he was by her half-concealed nipples. They were such an appealing shade of pink. His eyes were drawn down to the hazy shadow between her legs. All he had to do—

The girl caught hold of his arm and gave him a shake, and he managed to look at her face again. She was very indignant about something, but not about his mindless ogling, it seemed.

"She's been tricked into believing she has to do this dark ritual...thingy...to protect us, and it's the worst idea ever. I blame Flemeth entirely. In fact, it's why Flemeth sent Morrigan with us, but I don't blame Morrigan because Flemeth's been at her since she was little, twisting her mind. We'll fix her, though. Come on."

"What kind of ritual?" Loghain said, putting a hand on her arm to stop her.

"She wanted me to-" the girl stopped, clearly angry. "You know, I know you think I'm totally depraved, and it's true that I'm a stone-cold killer, and a thief, and a robber, and a bandit, and a pickpocket, and a tomb raider, and a scavenger, and a liar—"

"-and a cheat," Loghain added.

"-and a cheat," she agreed without heat. "There are however, things, that not even I will do." She smiled at Loghain radiantly. "Who knew? It's interesting to learn nice new things about myself." She gave Loghain an embarrassed blush and began babbling. "She wanted me to order you to haveritualsexwithher and conceive a baby-" she gasped for breath "-that would absorb the essence of the Archdemon and thus no Warden would need to die—"

He grimaced, and shook his head, interrupting her. "Wait. Sex?"

She was very put out at the very idea, clearly. Her hands fluttered, making her pert breasts quiver slightly. Loghain hoped she would do that again.

"Yes, sex," she repeated. "_Ritual_ sex. She said—"

"_Ritual sex_?" She had his undivided attention.

"Yes, yes, yes! Ritual sex with Morrigan!"

"Oh," he sighed, disappointed. "With _Morrigan_."

"-She said if I didn't, she'd take her toys and go home because she didn't want to see me killed. As if _that's_ going to happen!" The girl went on breathlessly, "And _she_ said some things are worth preserving, but _I _said the Old Gods aren't good for anything but causing blights and being made into spiffy armor. In fact, you know what, Loghain? I think we should hunt them down and kill them all after we kill this one. Kill them dead, dead, dead. That's what I think." The adorable breasts jiggled with every dramatic gesture.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked, feeling completely like a drooling lecher. He groped to the bed for a silk-lined wolf skin coverlet, and wrapped it around her, briefly mourning as the pink-and-kissable were hidden out of sight. Quite essential if he were to understand what she was saying, though.

"Oooh! This is nice!" she rubbed her cheek against the fur. "So soft! Anyway," she continued, not to be kept from her story for long, "aside from the fact that it's a terrible idea, and we'd still have an Old God in demon baby form attracting darkspawn out there- which totally defeats the purpose of everything we've been fighting for- it would make me some sort of rapist by proxy: pimping off one companion to another. That's morally abhorrent to me," she declared righteously. "We're not going to do that. Morrigan's probably under some sort of evil compulsion. So we've got to save her."

"If it's a compulsion spell, you should be talking to Avernus."

The wolf skin puddled to the floor, as she threw her strong young arms around him. Pink-and-kissable teased his chest, then pillowed sweetly against him. She smelled of soap and water and warm girl, her breath hot against his throat. He went with the moment, resting his hands on the trim waist, wondering if she would object if he slid them a bit lower-

She broke away, alas, eyes shining with admiration. "That is so clever of you! I was too stirred up to see it. Of course he'll help. Avernus _likes _Morrigan. Come on, let's get him and we'll all go save her!"

'Put that back on," he growled at her, pointing at the wolf skin. "You don't need to display your charms to the world at large. And I need to put on a shirt."

"Oh, very well. We mustn't frighten the servants, I suppose. You do have such a very nice chest, Loghain. But hurry!"

Avernus, most fortunately, was awake, dressed, and writing when they knocked. He threw Loghain an amused look, but greeted them graciously enough.

"Avernus!" Maude exclaimed. "Morrigan is in deadly danger!"

The ultimatum—dark of night, eve of battle, ritual sex thingy, Demon Baby, threats of desertion, etc., etc.-came pouring out. The old mage listened carefully, nodded, and then frowned.

"Well?" Maude said at the end, wanting an equally horrified response. "Isn't that the worst idea you ever heard?"

"One of the worst, I'll grant you. It cannot be. Where is she now?"

"In my room, waiting for me—and _Loghain_," she added, in a horrified whisper, clutching Loghain's forearm with one hand, and the wolf skin to her with the other. "How can she imagine that I'd order someone to do that? She's known me for over a year!"

"I believe you are correct in your deduction that this is something instilled in her by Flemeth over a long period of time. It may be so inculcated that she has not integrated other experiences or knowledge with it." The mage considered the issue. "It would be best if she could be dissuaded, rather than simply refused. Better, certainly, that she fully understand why it would be a mistake for her, personally. Otherwise, she might try to achieve her goal through trickery."

Loghain smothered a cough, which sounded vaguely like "Alistair!" The girl glared at him.

Avernus only smiled thinly. "Come, then."

Morrigan was surprised to see the three of them. The ghost of a smirk faded, and she appeared confused. She seemed most alarmed at the appearance of Avernus.

"You have made your decision?" she asked, with an attempt at nonchalance.

"Yes!" Maude declared. "We decided to save you from Flemeth's evil plots!"

Morrigan stood straighter, her features hard with anger. "You are fools!"

"Not at all," Avernus said, in a soothing, reasonable voice. "Your friends are concerned for your safety, and they are right. The ritual you propose is not unknown to me, but I suspect details of it may be unknown to you. Nor am I the only one who has plumbed its secrets. It has been known for many ages, and there are sound reasons why the Grey Wardens have rejected it as an option. I ask that you hear me out before you storm away. Sit, if you please. This will not take long at all."

Reluctantly, Morrigan subsided into a chair. The girl sat on the edge of her bed, and pulled Loghain down beside her, holding his hand. He sighed, and let her have her way. It would be rather interesting, and he could not object to what she was doing, other than that it involved hearing himself described as a friend of Morrigan. It was pleasant to feel the girl's thigh, warm against his.

Avernus stood by the fire, the flames casting an eerie light on his bony face.

"It has been known for some time that there are ways to spare the life of a Grey Warden who strikes the final blow. In theory, the nearby presence of a Warden's unborn child near to the Archdemon as it dies would certainly be a possibility. More probable of success would be the scenario in which a pregnant Grey Warden struck the final blow. It is entirely likely that the fetus would perish, and the Warden survive. It obviously has not been tested, since all previous Dragonslayers have been male."

Loghain sneered. "What kind of a woman would kill her child in order to save herself?"

"Besides," Maude objected, "I've been told that female Grey Wardens are practically barren! That it's difficult for a Grey Warden to have a child, and nearly impossible for two Grey Wardens together!"

Avernus cocked his head. "My dear child. Who told you that? A young man, I daresay. Was he," Avernus asked delicately, "_interested_ in you?"

Morrigan laughed, rather maliciously. Maude turned rose pink with outrage.

"Are you saying that Alistair was trying to lie his way into my smallclothes?"

"Not at all," Avernus assured her. "Such difficulties exist, but they _can_ respond to sophisticated magic. With care, an unborn child can be conceived, and then protected from the taint. Most Grey Wardens welcome these limitations, however, as they reduce the possibility of unwanted complications. But we digress. It is Morrigan and her solution to the Grey Warden sacrifice that we must attend to. The ritual as presented to you by Flemeth, I daresay, is based on the Ethereal Progenitor template of the Tevinters, and involves the magically focused insemination of a willing female mage by a recently-Joined male Grey Warden. Am I correct?"

Morrigan stared at him, taken aback. Warily, she said, "You are."

Avernus regarded her with compassion. "You were still willing to go through with this, even after the revelations about Flemeth's use of her previous daughters?"

Morrigan turned away, trying to conceal her growing unease. "That has nothing to do with me! I was to be the mother of an Old God, and share with Flemeth in his power!"

Avernus grimaced. Loghain began to feel that there was something very, very wrong here.

"Anyway, Morrigan," the girl said, "this is a rotten plan for you. You don't even _like _children!"

Morrigan opened her mouth to speak, but the girl cut her off.

"I know—I know. They say it's different when it's your own demon baby, but I think they're wrong. It would be years and years of work and cooking and cleaning and being run off your feet, and then all you'd have is a demon to show for it."

"The child would be born free of the taint—"

"And how long would that last, with every darkspawn in Thedas after you? And besides, that's just what _Flemeth_ says. If I were you I wouldn't believe anything from that source, because we already know she was not exactly forthcoming or truthful. The very fact that it's Flemeth's idea shows that it has to be a bad idea for everyone else. "

"My mother only wanted—" began Morrigan, a little more uncertainly.

Looking very grave, Avernus spoke.

"My dear young friend, Flemeth is not your mother. You know this. Flemeth undoubtedly killed your mother, perhaps your father too. She kidnapped you, probably with the original intention of possessing your body. She has never had your well-being in mind, and she has deceived you. I know about the ritual you describe, and it is clear that you have not been informed of the consequences to yourself."

"And I suppose _you _know them?" Morrigan ventured, with a shaky attempt at sarcasm.

"Morrigan," said Avernus, "knowing that Flemeth sustained her life and youth with her young fosterlings—like yourself—you don't find it odd that she sent you out to aid the Grey Wardens and carry and bear the child? Why not assume your form and bear the child herself?"

"At the time the arrangements were made," Morrigan replied, her brow knit in thought, "it seemed to me obvious that Flemeth was simply too old to bear a child. I did not then know that Flemeth's 'daughters' were her many forms."

"But now you know," Avernus persisted. "So why would Flemeth risk your death in battle? Why not assume your form and use her great power to win the prize? No, my dear young lady, I do not wish to play games. The fact is that she did not tell you all about the taint in this enchantment. You say truly that the child of such magic would be born untainted, yet the tainted seed of the Grey Warden is necessary to its success. In this ritual, the taint must go-elsewhere."

"Would it make her a Grey Warden?" Maude asked. "That would be neat! I'd love for Morrigan to be a Grey Warden!"

Morrigan's face indicated that nothing could be more repulsive to her, and Avernus shook his bald head.

"Alas, no. The taint would poison her slowly, but poison her it would, and eventually she would lose her magic, become a ghoul, and then die. By then, presumably, Flemeth would be back to step in and attempt to control the reincarnate Old God, though I have my own reservations as to her ultimate success in that endeavor. Perhaps her intent is to unite herself with the Old God in its new human form. That, however, it mere conjecture on my part. As far as I can see, this ritual is nearly certain to cause your own ultimate destruction. Rather than being a unfilled sack for her own possession, you would be a sack-a disposable sack-for the gestation of the Old God in human form."

Morrigan was looking quite sick and bewildered as Avernus dismantled all her preconceived ideas and long-held plans, leaving nothing in their place. See her distress, Maude burst out:

"Morrigan, forget Flemeth! Flemeth is not your friend. _I'm_ your friend. I give you jewelry and a beautiful mirror. Flemeth gives you rags and smashes mirrors. I bring you to live in gorgeous castles where servants wait on you. Flemeth makes you live in tumble-down huts and makes you wait on her. She wants to use you as a tool and then discard you. I want you here because I like you and value your company. She wants to take over the world, and believe me, she is not going to share power with anyone, especially anyone she regards as a meat sack. With me, you're one of the most important people in all Thedas, fighting to save the world. And we are _going_ to save the world, and then we will be showered with honors, and people will praise your name, and don't tell me you wouldn't like that, because I know better. And then we'll go live in a magnificent castle—or at least it will be when I get through with it, and we'll all live happily for a very long time—"

"Killing people and taking their stuff," Loghain muttered.

"Exactly!" beamed the girl.

"It is clear to me," said Avernus, "that Flemeth raised you to think you were lucky to live apart from civilization—that it made you better and stronger. I'm sure she told you to keep apart from us, that you were too good to mix with ordinary people. What she really meant, of course, was that she did not wish you to make friendships and forge alliances that could protect you from her."

"That is so true!" agreed Maude. "In fact, Morrigan, remember that she didn't_ care _if you had that grimoire. She offered to let me have it without a fight. Why would she do that? Not from fear of me, I believe, but because it would be more convenient not to have to find a new host before taking control—or _trying _to take control of the Demon Baby."

"Yes," said Avernus, with a judicious nod. "She expected you to die in the birthing or soon after, and then both grimoire and child would be hers anyway."

Her eyes bitter, Morrigan turned to Loghain.

"And what say you?" she asked. "What does your _wisdom_ tell you?

"That you should live _your _life, and not another's." He thought a moment. "I believe I met Flemeth once, long ago, and her words have pursued and poisoned me all my life. She is an evil and malicious being. It would be wrong to do anything that could conceivably make her yet more powerful and dangerous. I am sure that any plan she had for you would harm you, so it follows that it would be foolish to submit to her control."

Maude smiled slightly and squeezed his hand. Loghain simply looked at Morrigan, suspecting that any hint that she was submissive or controlled by another would be enough to make the witch rebel.

"So—" Maude probed gently. "Do you still want to have sex with Loghain, Morrigan?"

"I hate you all very much," Morrigan said, stalking out the door. "Be sure to give me my share of the loot tomorrow, so it's not stolen when you die!"

Maude gave Loghain a saucy smile and a wink. "Well! I think that went very well. I think we're all in a very special place right now. Thank you both so much for all your help. Let's have some wine."

"Not I, "Avernus declined. "I must get my rest in what is left of the evening."

"Good night, Avernus! Thank you so much!" cried the girl, seeing him to the door. She shut it after the old mage and leaned back on it, granting Loghain a dazzling smile.

"I'm so glad Morrigan is safe now-except for the whole fighting the darkspawn horde and the Archdemon thing. Don't even think about leaving yet. You already told me you don't intend to sleep, so you can keep me company. I'm much too stirred up to sleep after all that!"

The fire popped and crackled, while the girl poured some wine from a silver and crystal pitcher into matching goblets. Loghain wondered if she would spirit those away when she packed tomorrow. He accepted the wine from her, and lifted the goblet briefly to her in salute.

"Luck in battle."

She lifted hers to him. "Absent friends."

He sighed, his mind's eye seeing them all.

The girl sipped her wine, and then broke the silence. "I'm _so_ glad we could save her." She looked quite radiant, her eyes soft and dreamy. She set down her goblet. "Loghain—"

He swallowed, his entire body on sudden alert. She was up to something.

Holy Maker, she was really up to something this time. The wolfskin was cast aside, and once again her long and slender arms were around his neck. Before he could decide how to react, her mouth was on his, feather light, lips just brushing against his own. Her arms tightened a little, and then she kissed him properly, slowly and sweetly.

He let her, wondering what game she was playing. She pulled away a little afterward, looking up at him with merry defiance, long lashes half-veiling her dark eyes.

He cleared his throat. "What was that for?"

Her sweet voice husky, she murmured, "I wanted to see if I'd like it."

"And did you?"

"I don't know yet."

There was only one answer for that. He threw away the empty goblet and gathered her up in his arms, holding her fast. Her back was taut and muscular as a she-wolf, or a lioness.

There was her smile, the terrifying dark sparkle in her eyes, the quickened pulse at her throat, and then his mouth took hers, his conscious mind shunted aside; the taste of her, rich with wine, fresh as apples and honey in late summer heat.

She whispered, "It's even better when you help."

"Maude—" he supposed he was glaring at her. He was standing at the edge of a precipice, as he had so long ago, and balked at casting himself over this time. He would be gone from the world in a few days. The girl ought not to waste herself on him.

"You don't have to say anything, Loghain," she said softly. "You don't have to say anything, and you don't have to do anything, unless you want to." Very lightly, she kissed him again.

"The day will come," he said, his voice thick," when you finally meet the right—"

She smiled, studying his face with unaccountable pleasure. "What?" she laughed softly. "Do you think I should be saving myself for marriage?"

"This is a very bad idea." Hollow words. They drifted between them aimlessly, while the silence waited. She was pressed tightly to him, and must feel him, a man.

"I think it's a _brilliant _idea," she murmured, her breath warming him. "I think that if you leave now, we will both regret it forever." She took a little quick breath when she saw his face change.

The barriers were down, prudence forgotten, the censure of the world discounted. His mouth was on hers again, seeking and inexorable, and then he lifted her in his hands, holding her up, trailing kisses down her throat, taking each nipple in turn while she cried out wildly, the white silk wet and transparent with his suckling. Her startled eyes were enormous as he tossed her onto the bed. That little flicker of alarm was endearing, he supposed, but she had wanted a man, and now she would have one.

"Take that rubbish off," he snarled, pulling his shirt over his head.

"I thought perhaps—"

"Off! Or I'll take it off you, and there won't be anything left."

She scrambled to her knees, ribbons loosening with a twitch of her clever fingers, the white silk sliding away like sea foam. One hand crept up to hide her scarred left breast.

Her eyes were even bigger, if that were possible, when he kicked off his breeches. He smirked at her, little white lamb—well, not so little, and not very lamb-like, except when she was shamming and taking somebody in. The thought amused him, and oddly made him remember to be gentle.

She was delightfully ready, and too brave to be prudish as he explored her. Adventure and athleticism had stretched out of existence tender membranes that otherwise would have bled and spoiled her pleasure. He examined her scars, and showed her his, and she was impressed and consoled. Soon he was within her arms and within her body, and knew only bliss as he hammered at her, sweat running down his sides. Instead of her usual fibs, her silvery voice uttered quick moans in a very pretty, very pleased way, so that was all to the good.

When he slid his hand down between them and touched her, she screamed out and bit him, but he hardly felt it. The moans became pleas, and then threats of dire bodily harm if he stopped, and then a series of inarticulate cries, as her muscles clenched and her eyes rolled back. He slipped his arms around her, holding her fast, concluded that she was now officially happy, and proceeded to nail her to the mattress.

* * *

"I love being with you. This is nice."

Loghain's eyes fluttered open. He had fallen asleep somehow. Maude was curled up in the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder, fingers brushing through the hair on his chest.

"I hope that's what you really wanted," he rumbled, floating between consciousness and euphoria, "because I'm not taking it back."

She rubbed her nose against him. "Yes, it's what I really wanted. I never did that before. I hope I wasn't too inept. I mean, I didn't really know much about what men really like…"

"You do now."

"A bit. I'm sure you have lots more instruction for me."

"I'm sure we don't have lots more time." He breathed deeply, feeling very, very good. "You want to know what a woman does to stir a man?"

"Oh, yes! Certainly."

"She shows up."

"Very droll."

"It's true."

"I liked it so much," she murmured. "Let's do it all the time."

"Maude..." The world was back, looming disagreeably in their future, and he sighed. "This could cause real trouble for you, even though 'we are practically married according to ancient Alamarri custom.' You need to be _discreet. _Do you understand me?"

She rose up on her elbow and cupped her chin, studying him thoughtfully. "I suppose, although actually according to ancient Alamarri custom we are now completely and indisputably married. I know, I know. Alistair would be very angry, and Wynne would probably curse us."

"And they're not the only ones. This _must_ be a secret. Can you manage that?"

She scoffed. "People usually believe what I want them to believe. I promise to be a good girl on the march to Denerim."

"And be a good girl when we face the Archdemon, too. Don't be in a hurry to die."

"We're not going to die," she told him with absolute conviction, delicately running her fingertip the length of his nose.

"What? Never?" Loghain huffed a laugh at that. "Would you really want to live forever?"

"I don't know," the girl said, thinking it over with a serious smile. "I suppose it depends on how much fun I'm having."

* * *

_A big thank you once again to my reviewers: Shakespira, Alpha Cucumber, Amhran Comhrac, Lehni, Shikyo-sama, Nithu, Aoihand, Angurvddel, Piceron, Eva Galan, Enaid Aderyn, Crazy lemon, papillon2, mutive, Winchime68, Evalyne, Sarah1281, bioncafemme, HollyIsMyName, Chatoyant Tiger, mille libri, Costin, MoralityOduality, fussycat, wisecraknmama, and icey cold. I can't tell you how much your support means to me!_

_Yes, I know. Old movie geek, that I am, I used a bit of Casablanca in the last chapter, and a bit of To Have and Have Not in this one. Bogart was substantially older than Bacall, too. I hope you enjoyed my characters staging an intervention for Morrigan._

_Those who love Monty Python will know where I got the title from. 'Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Say no more.'  
_

_Next up: An Awfully Big Adventure_


	9. An Awfully Big Adventure

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 9: An Awfully Big Adventure**

Considering how eventful his night had been, Loghain had slept better than he ever had before going into battle.

He awakened (for the second time) to the sound of a door softly closing further down the hall. Faint grey light seeped through the lofty windows in the stone wall. Not yet dawn then, luckily.

Sliding out from under Maude, he moved to the door and cracked it open very slightly, catching a flash of red hair vanishing through the door to the other wing.

"Hmph," he grunted, searching for his clothes. "I knew it."

"Knew what?" the girl murmured, stirring lazily. Her hair was tumbled rather fetchingly on and around her shoulders and breasts. She was also waking up rapidly, and her eyes were starting to sparkle..._again._ He really must go while secrecy was still possible.

He laced his breeches, feeling triumphant for too many reasons for a man of his age. Why not tell her?

"I knew that Orlesian chit was a spy all along. I saw her creeping along the hall. She must have spent the night with that _other_ Orlesian."

"Maybe they were just having depraved, meaningless Orlesian sex." Maude sat up, admiring him frankly. "Not like firm, upright, blissful, emotionally engaged _Fereldan_ sex."

"They probably were. That doesn't mean they weren't exchanging information as well." He reached over and smoothed the silky hair. "You need to get up and have breakfast. We'll be moving out soon."

She was out of bed and flinging herself on him before he could escape. "I want to kiss you before you go."

"All right. Yes. Wonderful. That's enough. I'm leaving now. Yes, yes, I am." He held her at arms' length, studying her seriously. She looked very pretty at the moment, and not particularly crazed. "Clean yourself up and put on what you can. I'll do the same. Then bring your armor down to my room and we'll deal with it _with the doo_r _open_."

"The soul of discretion," she said wistfully.

"I am doing this to protect you, you silly girl."

He continued to make clear, when she came down to squire for him, that their enjoyable little fling was _over._ Luckily she had always been one to paw on him, so no one would see anything unusual in her behavior.

"Well, anyhow," she said, "I'm glad that Riordan got lucky. He's not a bad sort, other than being a dragon-stealer. Attempted dragon-stealer, actually, which is less serious. I hope he was nice to Leliana. I'll have to ask her."

"Nice to her in between trading state secrets," Loghain muttered.

Breakfast was entirely a blur, a hasty meal and a pandemonium of voices and clanking armor filling the Great Hall. The girl's presence was pleasant, but last night seemed unbelievable to Loghain. Morrigan glanced at him sourly over the table._ That _conversation had been real enough. He kept his countenance and only granted the witch a brief nod. Avernus sat next to her, serenely sipping tea. Leliana smiled brilliantly at Riordan when he arrived. He grinned at her, obviously thinking himself raffishly charming. Loghain sneered at his porridge.

The girl was called away by a group of heavily armed dwarves, evidently there to complain to her, by the grim looks on their hairy faces. She made soothing gestures at them, her words unintelligible at this distance, but her voice pitched to persuade. She left the hall with them, hard at work smoothing over something or other. Ranger followed, seemingly displeased by the dwarves' attitude.

The qunari was following the disorder in the hall with disdain. Loghain agreed heartily. No one seemed to have a clue who was in charge, except for Eamon Guerrin, who appeared to believe he was. Well, perhaps he was _in charge,_ but he certainly was not _in control._

The assassin was whispering to a young elven servant, showing an unnatural expanse of teeth. Wynne saw Loghain looking in her direction and immediately her face became starchily disapproving.

It was all too much. He shoveled in the last of the porridge and rose, needing to escape this place.

The confusion was even greater outside, but at least there was air. Loghain was meanly glad that he was not in charge of this shoddy spectacle as the armies prepared to depart, because he had never seen such a slovenly, amateur effort in his life. There was confusion: there was delay. Redcliffe's baggage train blocked the bridge from the castle, forcing the Legion of the Dead to edge along, single-file, trying to ease the congestion in the courtyard. Dwarves, elves, knights all swore with colorful diversity but equal force. Dogs barked, and were silenced by Ranger's alpha growls.

"Loghain!" Maude was calling to him, waving him over. With her were a pair of dwarven merchants. Or a merchant and his son. The younger dwarf must be very young indeed, from his lack of beard.

"Loghain!" she beamed. "Allow me to present to you my very favorite dwarven traders: Bodahn Feddic and his son Sandal. We've crossed paths and camped together scores of times. Anything you don't want to carry yourself you can stow in their wagon, since they'll be in the baggage train."

The elder dwarf eyed him warily and gave a neat little bow. "Always a privilege to serve the Wardens."

The younger dwarf stared at Loghain, eyes bright and bulging, and smiled broadly. "Enchantment!" he declared.

Loghain was rather taken aback, but the girl patted the strange little fellow on the head. "That's right, Sandal," she said. "Enchantment just about covers it!"

Bodahn apologized. "It's his only word, my lor—Warden, but he's a dab hand at runes and such."

"Absolutely," the girl agreed, giving the young dwarf a very kind smile. "Sandal is brilliant. He enchanted your very own Keening Blade."

"Well done," Loghain told the young dwarf. "I thank you."

"Enchantment!" repeated Sandal, his delighted smile including Loghain, the girl, and all the world at once.

Loghain had very little with him to begin with, but he thought it over, and put together a little parcel of the maps the girl had given him. There was no reason for them to be destroyed. He dashed off a note, so it was clear that they were hers to enjoy after he was gone. He thought a moment more, and then simply signed his name. What else was there to say?

At a distance, he saw a big carriage, heavily armored, pulled by a team of six oxen. Anora's bright head caught a shaft of sunlight. Perhaps she felt his eyes on her. She turned his way, paused, and lifted a hand; perhaps in greeting, perhaps in farewell. Chantry Boy was with her, of course. He urged her into the vehicle and shut the door behind her. To Loghain's relief, he did not appear to see him.

_Chantry Boy._ He loved that name. If Oghren had no other value, Loghain owed him for that. It never failed to lighten his mood. A smile was on his face, he knew, and he worked hard to dispel it. _Chantry Boy._

But Anora was gone, and he would not speak to her again in life_. _There was nothing to be done but commend her to the Maker's care, and turn away._  
_

"There!" The girl was piling another parcel into the dwarves' wagon. "I'm just carrying what I need, other than some jewelry I can wear and my money belt."

"Wise of you."

The wagon was full of interesting things, including some shapes that suggested paintings. "That's a portrait of the Rebel Queen," Maude told Loghain. "I gave it to Sten." She blew out a breath, and looked at the pandemonium surrounding them, hands on hips.

"Let's round everybody up. We've got to get out of this mess. We'll join the Legion and some of the elves and just get moving. Why in the Maker's name is everything taking so long?"

He could have told her, but her question was clearly rhetorical.

* * *

The West Road was beyond foul. The darkspawn horde had made use of it, and now it was a track paved with their excreta and with human blood. Heads and body parts were impaled on poles at regular intervals, like milestones. Blighted vegetation drooped, crisp and black.

Their own company was in the vanguard, but flanked on either side by dwarves. Dalish elves spread out and slightly ahead, screening and scouting as they went, giving the first alarm as they encountered stragglers from the horde.

Quite a few stragglers there were. Despite all their attempts to move quickly, now and then they were forced to slow as they came across darkspawn who squawked and roared at the sight of them. The delays were not long, but they were numerous.

They moved through resistance like a hot knife through butter. The Dalish seemed as good as Wardens at spotting darkspawn. Their archers skewered them before half understood they were under attack. It was like the old days of the rebellion, when he had organized the Night Elves and terrorized the Orlesians. These elves, to do them credit, had organized themselves, and effectively, too.

A hurlock emissary with his hideous entourage was stunned and slain in short order. Loghain resolved never to say the words out loud, but Riordan was good at killing darkspawn: quite good. He was, Loghain supposed, the nominal leader of their party, but at this point, no one needed instruction or even orders. The party worked as a team, and the addition of Riordan simply gave more weight to their attack. Besides, Riordan had the sense not to presume upon his authority. Loghain and Maude might be obliged to obey him, but the other companions were here out of loyalty to Maude herself, and most would not react well to seeing her supplanted.

Having three mages, of course, was a luxury Loghain had never experienced before becoming a Warden. He imagined having Avernus, Morrigan, or even Wynne along during some of his youthful adventures. The thought of replacing that elven seductress Katriel with Wynne brought a smile to his lips. She would have been young then—or younger—but no doubt would have been a source of endless patronizing advice even then. Of course, not being an elf, Maric might not have made an ass of himself over her. There were yet more mages in the body of the army, following behind, but their forces still seemed thin compared to the sheer numbers of the horde.

"I suppose you think we'd have been better off if I'd let the Orlesians come through Gherlen's Pass," he growled, almost thinking it himself.

"Don't put words in my mouth that aren't there," Maude shot back. "If I'd wanted the chevaliers, I would have gone to the Empress and used my legendary charm. And at that, it might not have worked. When I met Riordan in Howe's dungeon, he made clear that the Orlesians-Wardens and Imperial forces both- weren't coming even if we asked nicely."

"He _said,_" Loghain sneered, "That Orlais had resolved to respect Ferelden's sovereignty."

The girl cocked her head thoughtfully, and then shrugged. "It comes to the same thing. Another reason I'm ashamed I didn't come to you after Ostagar. I think it's clear where the Orlesians stand in all this. Why would they want to shed blood in our civil war, when they could get everything they wanted, simply by doing nothing?"

Riordan had overheard this, and walked along with them, looking like he wanted to say something. A moment passed, and then another, and Riordan did not voice any disagreement. He sighed deeply. Loghain felt a stab of anxiety. "What do you mean by that?" He asked Maude.

She shook her head, apparently finding him particularly dense. "It seems pretty logical to me. The Orlesians have everything to gain by the Blight doing its worst to Ferelden. If the Archdemon headed their way, they would defeat it and gain the glory for Orlais, and then there would be this large, uninhabited territory to their east, ripe for colonization."

Loghain stopped dead, and Oghren ran in to him, cursing. The truth—the real threat- had been staring him in the face, all this time, and he had been blind to it.

With an attempt at calm, he said, "And just when did you come to this conclusion?"

She regarded him blankly. "As soon as Riordan said that was what was happening. I didn't make it up by myself, if that's what you mean."

Riordan merely looked sad. "She is right. The Orlesian Wardens have written Ferelden off as an acceptable loss, and obtained the agreement of the Wardens in the Free Marches and. Nevarra as well. People tell themselves all sorts of things to justify terrible deeds. I was only permitted to come to Ferelden after I persuaded Peyrolle—the Orlesian Warden Commander—that I merely wanted to scout out the situation. I love Orlais—you must understand this—but I love Ferelden, too. It is the land of my birth. The thought of smugly watching its destruction was unbearable. If there was anything I could do to prevent it, it was clearly my duty, whether the Empress approved or no."

"Well, we're very glad you did," the girl said kindly. And then gave Loghain a _look._ He knew what she wanted, but would do no more than grunt noncommittally, imagining a past in which the girl actually had appeared before him in his bedchamber with her treaties and her charm and her terrifying logic.

They camped briefly, unwillingly. They must reach Denerim quickly, but they must be fit to fight when they crossed swords with the darkspawn. At the end of a long day, they reached a familiar name on a map, now deformed out of all recognition.

Lothering was gone, and in its place was a blackened mockery. What bodies remained were too corrupted for the very animals to scavenge. Some indeed, had tried, and were scattered across the landscape, withered and dead themselves. The door of the Chantry was in splinters, and vague shapes dangling from the ceiling hinted at horrors within. Ceorlic's manor was a jumble of stone and charred timber. The river itself ran black and greasy and foul, and no one dared drink from it.

The girl took the bard and the assassin along with her to check for traps throughout the village. They had keen eyes for such things, and from a distance Loghain could hear metal snapping and the three companions laughing and jeering at the incompetence of the darkspawn.

After a little while, Maude trotted back, eyes alight with mirth. "You should have seen it, Loghain! One of the genlocks actually caught himself in his own trap! He was still alive-sort of-but we put that right. These creatures are complete morons!"

"Dangerous morons," Loghain could not help pointing out. "Deadly morons."

"Disgusting, disturbing, and degenerate!" Maude laughed. "And we're only on the letter D. Oh, come on, Loghain. I found a house they haven't made into an abbatoir. We can get some sleep there!'

Rest might be necessary, but sleep seemed nearly impossible. The companions collapsed wearily in the ruined hovel. Dust trickled down from the rafters, and the light dimmed with the setting sun. A small fire crackled bravely against the encroaching dark. Elven servants, picking their way gingerly through the tainted rubble, served them food. A clean spring up in the hills had been located, and water was being brought into camp to slake the thirst of the army. Avernus, Morrigan, and Wynne examined the supply, conferred, and pronounced it safe.

"How nice to be Extra-Important and get first dibs on the water," Maude remarked, refilling her own canteen. "And how nice to have some else perform guard duty." None of their own party was called up for this: but rather a rota of men, elves, and dwarves. The Wardens and their party were for once comparatively fairly free of the daily tasks that had filled their lives: no guard duty, no cooking, no hewing of wood or drawing of water. It was just them, and the darkness, and the waiting horde.

"This is entirely too serious," the girl remarked, after the uncomfortable silence lasted a little too long. "I think we need some music. Come on, Leliana! Sing with me!"

_"L'homme, l'homme, l'homme armé,_  
_L'homme armé—"_

She caught Loghain's eye, and laughed ruefully. "Perhaps _not _in Orlesian. What was the version in the King's Tongue?"

Leliana loyally began,

_"Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms_  
_Fills the folk, fills the folk with dread alarms,_  
_With dread alarms..."_

"Yes! I remember!" the girl said, "but let's change it a bit. How's this?"

_"Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms_  
_Fills the _spawn,_ fills the _spawn _with dread alarms,_  
_With dread alarms._

_Everywhere I hear them wail,_  
_So find a good strong coat of mail_  
_Perhaps you'll then prevail._

Leliana quite approved. "You should have been a bard!" she laughed, and immediately mastered the revised lyrics._  
_

_Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms_  
_Fills the spawn, fills the spawn with dread alarms,_  
_With dread alarms!"_

The others joined it, one at a time: some loudly like Oghren, some more softly, like Wynne. Riordan, Loghain found to his immense disgust, could sing well, in a fine baritone. Bloody Orlesian ponce_. _The fellow could even hold his part when they began to sing it as an irresistible round_. _Maude began drumming out a catchy rhythm on Oghren's helmet, to the dwarf's great delight. Elven servants crowded around the ruined house to listen, and then some soldiers, human and dwarves alike.

They sang until Loghain finally surrendered to the girl's implicit demand, and sang in a low rumble along with her: until they were out of breath, and the separate voices of the round tumbled to the end and into general laughter. Then it was time for some toasts, drunk with ale sent by the Queen herself; and then it was time to yield to the night._  
_

Ranger lapped eagerly at his silver bowl, leaning against Loghain, demanding his attention. They dozed, and dropped like stones into restless sleep: some sitting propped against the walls; some, like Wynne, lying carefully amidst destruction, robes primly arranged. Leliana lounged against a pile of sacks, and Riordan lay with his head her lap, smiling drowsily as she stroked his hair. Loghain scowled, sensing the girl's wistful eyes on him. As the shadows lengthened, he felt her hand slip into his, and he did not pull away. He leaned back and shut his eyes- for only a moment, he thought.

Instantly he was in the Fade, spinning down and down, the unspeakable racket of the darkspawn shaking him to his core. Rotting faces flashed before him, and a vision of indomitable marching monsters seemed to make every effort of his own pitiable, laughable and useless. The fouled stone and oppressive dark of the Deep Roads held him prisoner, suffocating him. A hissing voice rumbled through his skull, pitched almost too low for human hearing, and he looked, transfixed, into the vast, white, and opaque eyes of the Archdemon. The horror of its gaze, of its vile reek as bared its fangs in menace, nearly unmanned him.

But he was Loghain Mac Tir still, and in the Fade or in the world, he would not cower. Not even when alone, and certainly not when supported by other Wardens.

For around him he felt their presence simmering in his blood. Riordan was there, grim and vengeful; and Avernus, full of intellectual curiosity about the most extraordinary being in all Thedas. From far away, he seemed to feel hints of a multitude of comrades, living and dead. Beside him was Maude, reckless and unimpressed, considering the Archdemon indeed, but only for the purpose of considering how best to kill it. She laid her hand on Loghain's arm, and smirked at the Archdemon's garbled threats.

"Some God of Beauty you are!" she laughed. "I've seen dragons that looked better after I killed them and skinned their hides for armor! Oh, and by the way, that's what I'm going to do with you!" She glanced behind her to Riordan. "I think we can equip all the Wardens of Ferelden from this thing!"

Riordan blinked back at her, proud and horrified at once.

Purple fire bloomed from the creature's mouth, scalding forth to blast them, but the girl put up her hand to halt it. "This is the Fade, you idiot!" she shouted. "And it's just as much my Fade as yours! I won't let you use it to torture us ever again! We can shape it for ourselves, and make a better job of it than you. In my Fade, it's high summer on the Cliffs of Conobar!" The fabric of the Fade trembled, and the dark of the Deep Roads was pierced by yellow light.

"Very clever!" approved Avernus. "Quite mad, my dear girl, but clever all the same. Ordinarily only mages can alter the Fade, but I suppose that Wardens in this extremity might be able-"

"Come on!" interrupted Maude, shouting at the three other Wardens. "Think this with me! You've all seen it! High summer on the cliffs above the Waking Sea! The sun is on the water and birds are in the air!"

The world- the real world of light and shadow and fresh wind-shimmered into being in a corner of Loghain's mind. It was only a flicker in the midst of the Deep Roads of the Fade, but it was something to grasp and hold.

Relentlessly, the girl went on, "The grass and vines are green, and we've all gone to the shore for a picnic! So we don't need you!" she shouted at the Archdemon. "Go back to the shadows where you belong! I'm coming for you soon enough, you raddled gargoyle! You have no power here, unless we give it to you. If you try to ruin my picnic, I will fucking _EAT _you!"

The Fade broke apart, and the Archdemon vanished. Loghain was adrift in the random noise of the darkspawn, but the creatures were far away and harmless. And there was the faintest scent of a cool salt breeze...

His eyes opened to a red and lowering dawn, and something wet on his cheek. Loghain grimaced at the girl's indiscretion, before he realized that it was the dog, licking him. Maude was deeply asleep, slumped against his other shoulder, and Zevran was slumped against her. Oghren's head was pillowed on their packs by their feet, and he was drooling on them. Loghain put out a booted foot, and with careful determination pushed Oghren's head away. Sten was already up and neatly arranging his bedroll. The two Orlesians were nowhere to be seen.

But he could hear them, a quick rhythm and a whimper in the loft above. _Ugh. _Loghain gave the girl an unromantic shove.

She stirred, murmuring, "I want Antivan wine and pink roses..."

Zevran had awakened too, and grinned, first at the girl and then at Loghain, raising his brows.

"I have heard that her birthday falls in the month of Kingsway. It is very nice to know the things she would like, yes? A wise man would go to the ends of the earth to obtain them for her."

Loghain grunted sourly, thinking of the girl moving on to celebrate her next birthday with another man. Useless to rail at what must be: he had had her first, and she would not forget him, even if it would be just as well for her if she did. He shoved at her again. "Maude, wake up."

Her dark eyes opened, and she smiled at him. "You should have stayed for my picnic," she murmured. "It was very nice."

_Mad as a Templar,_ he decided. "Another time," he told her, "The darkspawn await."

She whispered, her eyes clearing of sleep. "You had best name your forfeit soon, Loghain." She smiled at him archly. "Or have you already claimed it?"

He frowned, but brushed her hair from her eyes. "I have not. A forfeit is not a forfeit if given willingly."

She made a face at him, and he smiled grimly. "I _shall _have my forfeit in my own time and place," he told her. "Never doubt it."

Riordan slid down the ladder from the loft in a shower of dust and splinters. He adjusted his breeches, and gave Loghain a quizzical glance.

"I had the most peculiar dream..." he ventured.

"As did I," Avernus said, emerging from behind a sagging wall. "Very curious. Very curious indeed." He peered at Maude with paternal amusement.

Leliana descended from the loft very gracefully, flushed and radiant. She caught Loghain's dour expression, and dimpled at him, unrepentant.

More confusion, more delay. Once more they took the lead with the best of their allies, and marched on. The sky was overcast and threatening: the more so the farther north they traveled. There was something amiss in the very air.

Maude was spending time with all her companions today, walking with each in turn. She smiled and nodded like a good child at Wynne's infernal prosings, laughed at Oghren's jokes, and listened to Zevran's ghastly anecdotes with quick interest. Then she was schooled by Sten about the Qun, and repeated words of his with deep pleasure.

"_The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless_," she murmured. "I love that. I _believe_ that."

She moved on to exchange secrets with Leliana, and to gossip with her about the Orlesian Court. Not entirely to Loghain's surprise, she wanted to talk to Riordan about life in the Wardens. She answered Avernus' strange questions about her childhood and education, and if her parents ever been concerned about her showing signs of magical ability. The latter question Maude seemed to find very funny, though Avernus was not the least abashed by her laughter. He simply studied her as he would any interesting experimental subject.

She spent quite a long time with Morrigan, conversing in earnest low voices. The marsh witch was still somewhat put out with her, but did not seem hostile. Their exchange, indeed, seemed even affectionate in an odd way. Perhaps it was the whispers, reducing all the words to hissing sibilants, but Loghain was almost certain he heard the word "sister." It was particularly odd that he thought that it was Morrigan who had said it.

In the forenoon they came upon a large body of darkspawn, hurrying after the bulk of the horde. The Dalish swung wide, forming a line of archers on either flank. The baffled darkspawn rushed back and forth, not certain which way to press their attack. Then they sensed the Wardens, and rushed straight at them, through a gauntlet of clothyard shafts. Some spun around and fell, kicking up the blighted earth; some rushed on, heedless of their wounds. In the vanguard was a huge hurlock, bigger than any they had seen, bigger even than those Maude had seen in the Dead Trenches. It shouted defiance in a voice bordering on human, and knocked Oghren down with a mighty blow from its maul. Less than a second later, the hurlock was hit simultaneously by ice, by stone, and by lightning. It still took dragonbone and silverite blades to put it down for good. An unusually powerful emissary rushed along in the leader's wake. briefly catching Zevran in a crushing spell.

"Kill that bastard!" Maude screamed, veering off from the ruins of the Hurlock Vanguard to protect her comrade. She screamed again as the emissary cursed her, but she kept running: grabbing at the thing's bizarre headdress and stabbing down, cutting through its filthy robes to its heart. Darkspawn blood squirted onto her gorgeous armor, but she was oblivious, already yelling at the nearby Wynne.

"Fix them! Fix them!" Meaning Zevran and Oghren, who were sick and disoriented from their injuries. Loghain hissed as he withdrew his sword from the hurlock's heart, hoping that there would not be too many of this monster's kind to deal with. Ranger sniffed at the thing and growled. It had seemed like something more than a darkspawn: more powerful, more aggressive, and not entirely mindless.

Maude found also that it had been in possession of a remarkably large and beautiful emerald, as well as an elaborate jeweled amulet, worn around its filthy neck.

"This is nice," she said, admiring it. "This is pretty. Do you like this, Leliana?"

"Oh, how dear of you!" cried the Orlesian, snatching at it.

Riordan had quick reflexes. Loghain was impressed and amused to see how quickly he intercepted the trinket. "You are _not_ going to wear that without a thorough cleaning, Leliana! It is reeking with Taint!"

Wynne agreed, her opinion of Riordan rapidly improving. "How very sensible of you, Riordan. Here, my dear," she told Leliana. "I will keep that for you in this pouch until we have time to cast a very hot fire spell on it."

Leliana pouted, but Riordan was adamant. Maude grinned at Loghain, vastly entertained at the spectacle. "Isn't that sweet?" she whispered to him. "Riordan's all protective of her! Leliana told me that he's very satisfactory. Just the same, we mustn't let Wynne forget about the amulet. That's Leliana's property!"

"And the emerald is yours, I take it?" he guessed.

"Well, of course! Green is my very favorite color. It's lovely, isn't it?" She held it up to her eye, enjoying the green and blue sparkles. "It's like the sunlight through the leaves in the Brecilian Forest. I'll have to be careful with it, though. Emeralds are fragile. I think I may have it set right in the middle of my tiara. It would be safe there. Or maybe in a pendant. In a ring it would just get bashed and chipped when I'm killing things."

"-and taking their stuff," he added, with a snort.

She laughed and blew him a kiss. "Just so!"

They camped again at South Reach. The wardens found shelter at the ruins of the mill. The falls of the Drakon River were not far away, and they could hear the sound of the water as a low rushing in the distance. The town itself was mostly gone, though the remaining traces indicated that it had been evacuated more effectively than Lothering. Arl Bryland, of course, was not nearly the useless coward that Bann Ceorlic had proved to be. The foulness, became denser-thicker and reeking-as they drew closer to Denerim. The horde was concentrating: drawing in upon itself for a killing blow. The horror of the West Road must be taking its toll on the army behind them. Loghain was numb to it by now, not even flinching at the sight of babies skewered on tree branches like rotten fruit.

They were weary of evil and all its works, and ate together quietly, talking now and then amongst themselves. Perhaps the most cheerful of the adventurers was Avernus, who spoke nostalgically about his youthful exploits with Sophia during the rebellion: an escape on horseback with the two of them on the same steed, Avernus firing spells at their pursuers with his staff in one hand, while clinging to Sophia's waist with the other; a cold winter with little food, and only stories and chess to raise their spirits; and battle after battle, sword and staff in perfect alliance, the duty and heritage of the Grey Wardens.

"And this is the crown of my adventures," he sighed. "I only wish Sophia were here as well."

"Yes," Maude agreed frankly. "Her sword would have been welcome. It's a shame what happened to her."

Did any of the others understand that he was not speaking of the rebellion against the Orlesians, but the forgotten rebellion against King Arland? It did not seem to Loghain that they did. They knew nothing of 'Sophia,' apparently accepting her as a long-lost warrior-companion -perhaps a lost love-that the old mage fondly recalled in this dreadful hour. And that was exactly what she was, after all, so why stir the bitterness at the bottom of memory's cup with talk of betrayal and demons and lives wasted? Riordan, indeed, frowned briefly, and seemed to come to a startled conclusion, but in the end he too kept his peace.

The old man edged closer to the other Wardens, and glanced at Leliana, who had fallen asleep, her pretty, pouting mouth slightly open. He spoke quietly, for their ears alone.

"Once the Archdemon is destroyed, and order can be restored," Avernus said, thinking it over, "there will be a great many who will have been tainted by the darkspawn. Their only hope of survival would be to submit to the Joining. Not all-not many, surely-will be suitable, but it is a way to save some from certain death." He saw Riordan's concern and his coming objections, and merely remarked, "There will be sufficient blood from both Archdemon and darkspawn, surely. The formula is known to us, though Loghain and Maude need this information as well." In hushed tones, he told them how to mix the the proper proportions, explaining that it would be unsafe to commit the instructions to paper. They were each made to repeat the steps to his satisfaction, and then he sat back, satisfaction stretching his withered lips.

Riordan agreed in the end. "As you say, not many will be suitable, and most will die, but it is at least a chance."

"Well, good," Maude said. "I hope lots of them survive. We'll need heaps of Wardens when we march to kill the rest of the Old Gods." She got up, dusting off her hands, and stepped away to chat with Morrigan.

Riordan just looked at Loghain, who shrugged. Avernus' dry chuckle was like the rattle of old bones.

Loghain rose, wanting a look at the camp's dispositions. Old habits died hard, and he wanted to know what had been done, even though he had no power to command change or improvement. It had been ordered somewhat more efficiently than at Lothering, though that was faint praise indeed. He leaned against the wall, trying not to wish for impossible things, watching the soldiers at their errands and their rest, watching the girl's allies greet her and be greeted in return.

She was still talking with Morrigan, her voice a silvery thread of comfort. The witch was brooding again, adrift from the certainties drilled into her by that abomination who had raised her. Maude was considerably taller than the witch, and bent her head to listen to her friend, concerned and calming.

"-and now you will die," Morrigan said harshly.

"Maybe," the girl agreed, at her most reasonable. "Maybe we'll all die. Thought about that? We might all die and not even get to the Archdemon, but I don't think so. Avernus has given Loghain and me this amazing potion, and I have been fighting like I'm extra-invincible ever since. I have a good feeling about this battle, and you've known me long enough to know that my good feelings are never wrong. Don't make that face-you _know_ it's true. Anyway, I'm glad you were warned about your mother's other evil plot against you. I can't believe you were going to go through with it."

"Were you jealous? You could not bear that your prize should lie with another?"

Loghain scowled, torn between fury and elation to hear himself described as a prize: most especially as a prize to be_ lain with._

"Maybe. A little."

"You never intended to kill Loghain at all, did you?"

The girl looked away, very amused. She turned back to Morrigan and said, "You must have me confused with Alistair: you know, the 'tall, dim-witted one' as you once called him. It was Alistair's plan-or what passed for a plan-to kill Loghain, never mine. Aren't you glad I got Loghain for us? If I hadn't, you would have been coming to me, asking to have sex with Alistair! That would have been pretty funny, at least for me."

The witch raised her black brows. "Oh, yes, _tremendously _diverting. Would you have been more pliable then?"

The girl laughed, but shook her head. "I think it would have been particularly cruel, since the two of you dislike one another so much. Poor Alistair would have been warped by having his first sexual experience being essentially forced, and you-" She looked with real fondness at the witch, something that puzzled Loghain. "Have you ever had sex with someone you really liked and found attractive, Morrigan? It seems to me that pickings might have been pretty slim, out there in the Wilds."

"Does it seem so indeed?" Morrigan asked bitterly. "My mother had no trouble arranging such things for me-not from the time I was thirteen."

A silence. Maude said, with simmering anger. "I'm _glad_ I killed her, that foul old demon. You know the things she did to you were horrible and unconscionable. If she ever tries to come back, I'll kill her again, and I'll _keep _killing her until she has the sense to stay dead. I want the best for you Morrigan. You're my friend. Yes-you're my sister, if it comes to that. I want you to find someone wonderful-and no, I'm not going to annoy you by talking about love, since you've been persuaded that it is imaginary-"

"-it is a weakness. You yourself have been weakened by your desire for that _man_-"

"Not of bit of it!" The girl said stoutly. "I'm not feeling weak at all, but full of life and hope! And that's what I want for you. I want you to meet someone clever and splendid and amusing and companionable: someone you can respect and enjoy talking to, someone who makes your heart beat faster and who makes you feel better about yourself because he _is_ wonderful and remarkable and it proves what exquisite taste you have-"

"Don't talk such errant nonsense to me!" Morrigan said, laughing a little.

"Yes! He'll be lovely to you, and give you presents and extravagant but nicely-judged praise. Your life will be enriched by him and not diminished. He'll find the same things amusing and enjoy doing what you do..."

Morrigan laughed aloud at this. "What? 'Killing people and taking their stuff?'"

"Come on," smirked the girl. "You know you love it. You're a true battlemage, Morrigan! The very best."

Disarmed by such praise, the witch sighed and then said, once again, "You know you really _could_ die."

Still smiling, the girl put an affectionate hand on the witch's shoulder. "I think," she said, "that to die would be an _awfully_ big adventure."

A moment of exasperation. "Don't speak so to me!" The witch blew out another breath and looked at Maude very seriously. "Let Loghain take the final blow, all the same."

"Not a chance. The Archdemon is mine."

This caused the witch to go on about Maude's utter absence of sanity, and the girl laughed. Loghain gave them both a burning look, and slipped back into the mill. Oghren was loudly proclaiming that he wished to share the last of his 'special brew,' and Loghain knew the girl would never miss that.

* * *

The last day was the worst of all. It was as if the sun hardly dared to rise at all, and what light there was glowed red as fresh blood. Word came from the rear that the Queen required the attendance of the Grey Warden Maude. The girl was quite chipper at the summons, hastily polishing her splendid plate for the occasion.

"I daresay she wishes to address the troops-or at least the humans," Maude remarked, much amused. "Very nice and proper. Wynne spoke to the mages last night, and no doubt scolded them into stout hearts and mighty spells. Lanaya's got the elves in hand, and nobody messes with Kardol, bless him. I should go have a quick word with both of them before the Queen's ready to see me."

She strode off, looking every inch the hero that she really was. Loghain watched her, heart aching with tenderness, wishing he could go to see both her and Anora stand before the soldiers of Ferelden. It would not do. He would distract and detract from their moment, and he contented himself with climbing up into the mill to watch the scene from a distance. A platform had been hastily erected, and Anora-it must be Anora-was there: bright head a gleam of gold, her dragonbone armor turned red by the reluctant sun.

Others were climbing into the upper floor of the mill to join him. Leliana gave him a smile, and a pat on the arm. Riordan too was looking pleased as he gazed at the drama unfolding, the figures small as puppets.

The faraway bellow of hundreds of voices, and Maude was bounding up the steps to join his daughter, the light that reflected from her winged helmet and her plate a little brighter, more pellucid. She stood with tall dignity beside Anora, who was gesturing vigorously and effectively, from the shout that resounded across the plain. He had been there once himself, just as they were, and knew everything that those two girls were feeling and seeing. Anora's arm swept out, and she pointed north to the hills above Denerim.

As the lurid light brightened, they could see smoke, and the Archdemon soaring lazily over the city. The very sky appeared to be on fire. A final shout, and the army began to move. Maude gave Anora a jaunty bow, and backed away gracefully. In a moment, Loghain smiled very slightly as he saw her jogging back to her comrades...and to him.

They were ready, of course: far more ready than the shouting, posturing crowd behind them. They were leaving behind everything but the barest essentials. Today they would meet the horde, and there was no longer any need to concern themselves with tents or blankets or cooking pans. Loghain wondered where Chantry Boy was. Why had he not made an appearance? Was he sulking in his tent, like some worthless champion of old? Or perhaps Anora had found actual work for him that he could do, and he was about it. That was a much more satisfactory possibility. He might dislike Alistair, but he did not dislike him so much that he wanted him to be a bad thing for Anora, or for Ferelden.

Maude was trotting through the throngs of cheering soldiers, a hand up in salute. Her first smile was for Loghain, and he was warmed by it.

"Time to go!" she called. "Those noble idiots are running toward the city, but they wont last three miles at that pace. We'll pass them long before they reach the walls."

The ten companions-no-_eleven_ counting the dog-fell into step together, marching undaunted to face the Archdemon and its horde.

Maude grinned back at Leliana, and to Loghain's amazement, actually began singing. After only a moment, Leliana joined in. One by one, so did they all, and Loghain hardly knew whether to smirk or shake his head when Avernus sang too, with unabashed vigor in his reedy, old man's voice:

_"Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms_  
_Fills the spawn, fills the spawn with dread alarms,_  
_With dread alarms._

_Everywhere I hear them wail,_  
_So find a good strong coat of mail_  
_Perhaps you'll then prevail._

_Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms_  
_Fills the spawn, fills the spawn with dread alarms,_  
_With dread alarms!"_

They were still singing, as they passed the winded nobles, as they joined ranks with the Legion of the Dead, as they swept the mages and the Dalish elves up in their wake. Others sang with them, right up until they reached the gates of Denerim, and saw what the darkspawn had done._  
_

* * *

_Note: Thanks for your patience while I'm suffering the just torments of the damned at work. The chapter is finally done, and I'm at work on the next. I intended to put the entire final battle in this chapter, but it was just taking too long, and I thought you'd rather have something than nothing!_

_Special thanks to my noble reviewers: Shakespira, Icey Cold, Nithu, Sarah1281, Mutive, Jewel Song, Piceron, Prisoner 24601, Eva Galana, Amhran Comhrac, MoralityOduality, Guile, Persephone Chiara, Lehni, Thorn of the Dead Gods, mieuwings, Chatoyant Tiger, Alpha Cucumber, Windchime68, Costin, Aoihand, ArtemysFayr, WellspringCD, Enaid Aderyn, Evalyne,Angurvddel, wisecracknmama, mille libri, Cobar713, and JackOfBladesX._

_Yes, "To die would be an awfully big adventure" is shamelessly stolen from Barrie's Peter Pan.  
_


	10. Childe Cousland to the Dark Tower Came

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 10: Childe Cousland to the Dark Tower Came  
**

The darkspawn, they discovered, had arrived in Denerim half a day before the united armies.

Avernus was particularly good at determining time of death, based on body temperature and degree of rigor, and there were plenty of human remains around the shattered Great Gate to test.

"Well," Maude grimaced. "This isn't good."

A hurlock alpha and his minions rushed out the shadows, gibbering at them.

"Fine. Be that way." Fast as she and Loghain launched themselves at the monsters, they found them already frozen solid. Their little company of eleven was formidable. Nothing stood long against them.

Others were coming up to join them—some human warriors who were quicker on the uptake than the noble knights left in their dust; some of the Dalish archers; a few dwarves who were not bad cross-country runners, once given the chance.

Loghain snarled as he gutted yet another genlock. Sometimes he could really sympathize with Maude's desire to go to the source of these loathsome creatures and stop them there. The Gate District was in ruins, and the only sign of human defenders were their dismembered corpses.

"What incompetent ass was in charge of this?" burst out of his throat.

Maude laughed at she skewered another monster. "Probably a _dead_ incompetent ass by now!"

Probably, he thought. And he was not being fair. Eamon had stripped the city of defenders when he left, and there would only have been the garrisons at the Palace and Fort Drakon—and the City Guard—between Denerim and the horde.

He would like to kill Eamon, he decided. He had tried to kill him before, but that was a matter of protecting Ferelden. Now he _really _wanted to kill Eamon. Personally and painfully. It really was a pity he was going to die killing the Archdemon. Perhaps he should suggest killing Eamon to Maude…

But not all was lost. The darkspawn had not been in the city long enough to batter down every barred door. Not long enough to root out everyone hiding in cellars. Not long enough to find their way into hidden rooms at the Palace and at Fort Drakon.

By the Maker! He cast a proud eye over their company. Nothing, really nothing, could stand against them, and their wounds were healed by Wynne almost instantly. Oghren bellowed, pointing at a new incursion of hurlocks standing like the nitwits they were by the Inner Gate. With a cheerful halloo! Maude and Leliana were running at them, slicing them apart with joyous precision.

More soldiers were trickling in through the Gate, and not many darkspawn were flowing back toward them.

Riordan and Sten had cut off another pack of the monsters, and within a few minutes they were well on the way to complete control of the Gate and the attached gatehouses.

"I told you they were idiots!" called Maude, trotting up, covered with darkspawn blood. "They didn't even fortify the gate properly against us!"

"They didn't fortify it at all," sneered Sten. "It is only their numbers that are formidable."

Riordan joined them, shaking his head. "There are at least two Generals in the city. I can sense them. We will not find those so easy to defeat."

"Generals?" Maude stared at Loghain in confusion. "They have generals? Since when do they have generals?"

Leliana came to his side, a gentle bloody hand on his arm. "I'm sure if we destroyed those Generals, we could prevent them doing a great deal of harm."

"But the Archdemon must be our first priority," Riordan insisted. "Maude, I think you should take Loghain and two or three others and make your way to Fort Drakon."

The girl frowned. "And what are your plans?"

The Orlesian gave her a rueful smile. "I plan to move as fast as possible to the highest point in the city. I trust I will be at Fort Drakon before you."

Loghain saw the fellow's strategy at once. "You mean to draw the creature's attention to you!"

Riordan nodded. "What other choice to we have? If we stay together, the Archdemon will soon take notice of us and throw all its forces at us before we can reach it. The taint is older in me, and the Archdemon will sense me most easily. I intend to face the beast myself, but if I fall, perhaps I will have distracted it enough that you will succeed."

Maude looked appalled. "Riordan, stay with us! We're a great team! No—I see what you mean, but you don't have a chance!"

A mirthless laugh. "How great a chance do any of us have? If I live long enough for you to get within striking distance of the Archdemon, then I will have lived long enough."

Loghain thought that reasonable. He did not give much for the Orlesian's chances himself, but he could not fault his courage, and that, he felt, was just about as generous as he needed to be with an Orlesian. But the girl was still upset.

"But at least don't go alone!" she burst out. "I don't want you to throw your life away! We're going to make it through this together. I know it. And I want you alive to stick a finger in the eye of everyone in Orlais who wanted us dead!"

Riordan was shocked. "No one in Orlais wanted you dead!"

"Oh, no? I came to the conclusion over a year ago that, for all their fine words about Warden brotherhood, if the other Wardens wanted to help me, they _would _have helped me. They knew about Alistair, and after the news of Ostagar, they would have known about me. We weren't exactly making a secret of our whereabouts. Assassins certainly didn't have any trouble finding me. Wardens could have come over the mountains or arrived at any port in disguise. Maker's breath, they could just have sent money! Then I wouldn't have had to waste time running the Chantry's errands or doing the work of the City Guards. When time passed and nobody contacted me, I understood. They didn't want to help me. They _wanted _me to fail. You already know what I think about the Orlesians' plans for Ferelden. I was just in the way."

Riordan looked miserable, and Maude put a hand on his shoulder, to Loghain's great disgust. "In all that time, Riordan, you were the _only_ one who came. Whose idea was it to contact Howe?"

"Peyrolle, the Warden Commander..."

"Anything about that look _strange_ to you in retrospect? Why did he send you to someone who hated the Wardens even more than Loghain?" She smiled over her shoulder. "Well, he did. Sorry to bring it up." She told Riordan earnestly. "Loghain doesn't hate the Wardens anymore. But Howe did. So by sending an Orlesian Warden to him, wouldn't that seem to validate all of the arguments that the Wardens were all Orlesian agents, and harden Loghain's attitude to me even more?"

"Bastards," Loghain snarled under his breath. The Grey Wardens were complete bastards. It was pretty much as he had always thought, with the exception of the Ferelden Wardens now present. All the rest were complete and utter bastards. Riordan wasn't denying it, and his shoulders were slumped in defeat.

Only for a moment, though. He straightened, and said with luminous calm. "All the more reason that I should take the lead. We shall stop the Archdemon today."

Maude protested, "Just don't go alone..."

Leliana stepped forward. "I'll go with you," she said to Riordan, eyes shining. "Every step of the way."

Loghain rolled his eyes, and saw Avernus smirking. Morrigan grimaced at Loghain in sympathy.

"All right," Maude agreed, giving Leliana a surprised, concerned glance, "but don't either of you get yourself killed, or I'll find a way to make you sorry!"

The two Orlesians hurried away south, and more troops were coming up to the wall. A party of knights from Redcliffe pushed through the gate, led by Teagan.

"Bann Teagan!" Maude waved and shouted. She hurried over to him to tell him her plans. Loghain heard her briefly urge him to hold the Gate District against both dilatory darkspawn trying to enter the city, and incursions from the horde already inside. He would need to fortify both ingress and egress somewhat, but he must hold fast.

She glanced back at Loghain with a quick smile. He nodded in approval. She said something a little more quietly that brought a smile to Teagan's face, and was hurrying back at once.

So too were the two Orlesians, looking grim.

Riordan said, "Both gate bridges have been destroyed. We cannot cross directly south."

Loghain considered this. "Then we'll have to make our way up Gate Street to the Market, and turn south there at the Alienage Bridge."

"Fine." The girl agreed. "Let's all go. This lot," she said, waving at Teagan's men without much respect, "can hold the gate. We need to penetrate into the city quickly. Come on," she said, grinning at Morrigan.

The witch smirked back, falling into step with the girl. "So we go into the city together. That is as it should be."

"That is as it should be," the girl nodded. "Let's go!" She gestured at Lanaya's Dalish and the Legion to follow.

The soldiers filling the Gatehouse district lined the road, cheering, as they went past. Loghain did not bother to wave as the girl did, knowing just how much these cheers were worth. They pleased her, though, so that was something.

They moved quickly up Gate Street toward the Market, forming a loose wedge formation. Houses here and there were burning, but there were no dead in the streets. Either they had been evacuated, or they were hiding, and the darkspawn were not yet interested in a thorough search. The Wardens were moving fast, unimpeded by significant resistance. Either the numbers of the horde were fewer than they had estimated, or they had all gone somewhere else.

The elf assassin tugged on a few doors, but they were locked.

"That's good!" the girl remarked, surprised. "Darkspawn don't really get the locking door concept. If the doors are still locked, and not smashed in, that means the darkspawn didn't get in. Neat."

Leliana was looking the other direction and waved at something.

"I saw someone at that upstairs window. It was not a darkspawn. It might have been a child."

"Poor little nug," Oghren grunted. "I hope he makes it."

The dog barked agreement.

With a few delays, they were coming up on the Market, and Riordan winced, sensing a powerful, inimical presence. Loghain only felt something a little stronger than the usual scratchiness of the darkspawn. Through a small gap in the houses, they could glimpse the river and see that the Alienage Bridge still stood.

"We must split up here," Riordan said thickly. "We cannot linger. Leliana and I will cross the bridge and head toward Fort Drakon."

Impulsively, and to Morrigan and Loghain's mutual diapproval, Maude caught hold of Leliana and kissed her on each cheek, in the proper Orlesian style. Grasping at Riordan's armored wrist, she told him,_ "Bonne chance! _You're the only one who came! I won't forget it!"

The two Orlesians darted away, swift-footed and stealthy, but their passing still roused some interest. Something was shaking the earth. Something large, blue, horned, and disagreeable.

"Lovely," snarked Morrigan, "the new City Guard is composed entirely of ogres."

Maude laughed. "Remember how Sergeant Kylon despised the last batch of recruits? These are even worse!"

One of the ogres tried to follow Riordan and Leliana, but was turned to ice shards in a moment. There followed a hard fight, as ogre after ogre lumbered straight at Maude's party, supported by a powerful darkspawn mage. The Dalish behind them fired volley after volley. The mage was knocked down by Ranger, who gnawed at the bony face, snarling.

"That's the way, Ranger!" cheered Maude, "see them off our land!" She ordered the dwarves to move off toward the Alienage Bridge and hold off any darkspawn movement there until she arrived. And then she was searching the bodies, damn her.

Loghain hissed, "We haven't time for that!"

Maude glanced up at him, eyes sparkling. "There's always time for loot!" She lowered her voice confidentially. "Wynne needed a moment to catch her breath. She's not full of extra-invincible Warden Potion, just her guardian spirit."

"Her _what?"_ Loghain asked, indiscreetly loud.

Morrigan's face filled with delighted malice. She murmured, "You did not know that the old woman was secretly an abomination? 'Tis all too true. She's says she is kept alive by a benign spirit, but what is the difference between a demon and a spirit, save that one causes harm, according to one's own lights, and the other does not?"

Loghain could think of no possible answer to that, and looked at Wynne rather differently after that.

"So where's this General blighter?" demanded Oghren, taking a swig from his canteen.

"General Blighter!" echoed Maude. "General Blighter! I love that. This way, ladies and gentlemen!"

Her gaiety faded a little at the surroundings. "Oh, I do hope the Gnawed Noble is all right. Look at other side of the street! Isn't that a shame? Oh, dear—"

"What?" snarled Loghain, feeling very depressed himself.

She whispered, "That's Alistair's sister's house! Yes—really! He has a sister who's a washerwoman with five children, and that's her house. Oh, I do hope they evacuated in time!"

"Surely Alistair saw to that himself."

Maude shook her head. "I doubt it. She—disappointed him. Alistair doesn't take well to disappointment. I'll tell you the whole story later! _There!"_ she shouted, taking off at a run.

There was no time to ponder the impropriety of the King's sister taking in laundry. Running at them was a powerful Hurlock, heavily armed and armored, and resistant to everything but the most powerful freezing spells. The creature knocked Zevran flat on his back, and would have smashed him to bloody splinters, had not the assassin rolled nimbly away. Oghren swung his axe: a powerful blow that should have bisected the Hurlock, but only caused the creature to stagger.

The cobblestones shook as more ogres lumbered out to defend their commander. It could have been a disaster, if not for Avernus' inexhaustible magical reserves. Loghain grunted at the power of the General's glancing blows, glad he had fended off a direct hit. The Keening Blade at last managed to bite into darkspawn hide as tough as boot leather. Loghain jammed the sword through the hurlock's neck and pushed to the right, cutting through the massive neck until arterial blood squirted out and painted the side of a burning building.

They poked about the market for few minutes after the monsters sprawled dead in the street, seeing if there were more to be flushed out. Maude trotted here and there, the assassin helping, picking up more loot, some of which roused excited murmurs.

Carried by a cool, foul-smelling wind, wailing was heard from the Alienage.

"Next stop!" Maude called, already running lightly away.

* * *

Riordan and Leliana had come and gone from the Alienage long before Maude and Loghain arrived. The dwarves at the north end of the bridge had been attacked by a scant handful of darkspawn hiding in the east end of the Market, but none of the monsters had made it into the Alienage. Loghain agreed with Maude that the dwarves should come along and continue to hold the bridge. The rest of the army needed it intact if they were to advance into the city.

The Dalish too, were on hand, looking about in wonder, but not in admiration. They crossed the bridge and immediately caught the stink of too many bodies in too little room in a place for which the River Drakon was both the source of drinking water and the sewer.

"This place is indefensible," Loghain muttered, studying the decrepit hovels with disdain. "I've always said it was indefensible."

Maude smiled tightly and put a hand on his breastplate. "I don't want to have this conversation with you now. We are going to defend it." She strode quickly along the filthy gutter running through the middle of the street. The street itself was deserted.

Keeper Lanaya had kept pace with them, and now came up beside Maude, her beautiful eyes wide. "This is the where the elves of Denerim live?" she asked in a hushed voice, horrified but polite. "I came from such a place, long ago before the Dalish saved me, but I thank the Creators that I do not remember it."

Mithra, her second, was more vocal. "What's the matter with them? Are they sick? The darkspawn have not arrived, and yet it is filthy and ruined." She pointed ahead to the vhenendahl. "Only that tree is noble."

"It is always like this," Zevran told her. "It is an _alienage."_

The elf caught her breath quickly, her tattooed face twisted in contempt. _"Flat ears," _she hissed.

Oghren shook his head. "Dust Town is worse."

Sten agreed. "Yes, the dwarvish slum is worse all days except today, when this place is surrounded by darkspawn."

"That's a very good point, Sten," Maude agreed. "And we are going to keep the darkspawn out." She strode on, looking quickly about. Loghain strode with her, conscious that this was of all places in Denerim the one in which he must be the most reviled.

There was a noise and a scuffle behind them, and another elf ran up. "Keeper," he said, "we have a found a child. Or rather, a child has found us. Aleyra is with her. The child wished to warn us that we would be harmed if the shemlens saw us carrying our weapons!"

Lanaya shot Maude an accusing look.

Maude shrugged. "No one's going to be in trouble with me! I don't care if _everybody _goes armed, and in fact, I think that's generally a very sound scheme. The Arl of Denerim made that stupid law, but I killed him. and the City Guard is probably all dead anyway, so nobody cares. It was nice of the little girl to warn you, though."

"Indeed," Lanaya turned to the elf. "See the child safely home."

"I would have already, Keeper, but she says she has none."

"Then you and Aleyra shall guard her. Stay behind and keep the child safe. In the worst case, see that she escapes with you."

They walked on, and Loghain muttered, "Howe didn't make that law. It was in place even before the days of Arl Urien and his heir Bann Vaughan."

"So?" Maude shrugged. "I killed Vaughan, too, so it's all good. He was a pig."

There was no time for more questions, since a red-haired elf girl with a light bow was running toward them.

"You!" she said, gazing up at Maude in grateful admiration. "It's you! We've closed the gate to the city, but it won't hold for long. I thought we'd been left to die."

"Certainly not!" Maude affirmed. "The Wardens are here, Shianni, and so are our friends, and so are our Dalish allies from Keeper Lanaya's clan," she nodded at Lanaya. "Some dwarves of the Legion of the Dead are holding the bridge. I certainly did not forget you-"

A young male elf rushed up, half hysterical. "The darkspawn! They're coming! Run!"

"Stop right there!" Maude shouted. "We've come thousa-I mean-hundreds of miles to defend you, and you're going to stand with us!" She gestured fiercely to Shianni, the red-haired elf. "You and your bowmen get up to the windows overlooking the gate and shoot down. I don't ask you to fight the bastards hand-to-hand, but by the Maker, you can do your bit to defend your own homes!" She headed down the filthy street at a run.

"Such as they are," Morrigan sneered to Avernus.

"She means well. A very nice girl, for a _Cousland_, if a bit daft," Avernus replied. and with a glare from Loghain, they joined the defenders crowding to the south gate of the Alienage.

* * *

Darkspawn filled the courtyard in front of the Alienage Gate. The gate was of stout logs, useful for keeping out drunken humans, but it did not seem likely to hold long against the ogre that was hammering at it. Everyone with a bow rushed to the wooden ramparts just within the alienage, and began shooting down into the milling, shrieking enemy.

Avernus grinned thinly, whispering to Morrigan. They raised their staffs together, and something happened within that crowded little courtyard that Loghain could not quite believe. A storm of ice and lightning whirled into existence, a storm no wider than the courtyard itself. The ogre froze in its tracks, and some of the darkspawn foot soldiers collapsed to the ground, dead. Others sagged weakly. The storm went on some minutes, supplemented by the three mages' additional spells. Being mindless, the darkspawn had not the sense to retreat or even move out of range. They died where they stood, and other rushed into the whirlwind, and were consumed by it. By the time it was over, fully three quarters of the original attackers, including the ogre, were dead, and their bodies heaped the courtyard.

The gate, already strained, sagged open, and another of the strange, powerful hurlock Generals rushed in. He was struck with ice, with lightning, and with a hammer-blow born of the power of the earth. And then he was set upon by silverite and dragonbone and steel. Inhumanly strong as he was, he did not last long. The dwarves at the bridge, hearing the sound of battle, fell on the remaining darkspawn like a mountain. There were more sallies from the town, but after a quarter-hour, nothing. A mixed company of elves and dwarves would remain on guard, but it was time to move on.

Maude walked over to the dead hulk of the hurlock General and stared at the grotesque body, head cocked to one side. "Avernus? Is this really a darkspawn?"

Avernus came up and examined the remains. "It is certainly a darkspawn-of a sort. Why do you ask?"

"I mean...do you think this thing _started _as a darkspawn? I heard Wardens go to the Deep Roads to die, but what if that isn't all they do? Could this have been human once? Could it have been a Warden?"

Loghain stared at her, horrified to speechlessness by the idea.

"Just a thought," the girl said, with a pretense of a smile. "Just a thought."

"Shouldn't you be looting by now?" Loghain sneered, hoping for something resembling normality.

"Thanks for reminding me, but sometimes it's more important to share." Maude ran back to the broken gate and called, "Shianni! They're dead! Come here, I need to talk to you."

The red-haired elf was positively bounding. "We did it! I can't believe it! We can never thank you enough!"

"Quite all right," Maude said airily. "Happy to help. Just doing our duty. That sort of thing. But-" she leaned down to speak quietly to the elf. "It occurs to me that these darkspawn have_ lots_ of stuff: things you might be able to use. You have to be careful not to get their blood on you, but this is a good opportunity to build up the elven armory a bit, don't you know?"

"You mean-" Shianni said uncertainly "-you think we should loot their bodies for weapons and armor?"

"Yes, I do mean that," Maude replied instantly. "But _carefully._ Use gloves and clean everything very _carefully._"

"Just...take it?"

Exasperated at such a display of honesty, Maude gave the nearest darkspawn a kick and yelled at Zevran. "Let's show these upright citizens how it's done!"

Zevran was at her side at once, unbuckling the creature's armor, which included some poor Ferelden soldier's decent veridium scale breastplate. Fallen from the beast's hand was a good quality war axe. Inside the armor were little treasures: a few coins, a silver ring, a small sparkling garnet. They were the sort of shiny things that always seemed to catch the monsters' eyes. Shianni's own eyes gleamed at the sight.

"The Chantry says it's wrong to steal..." was her last objection.

Maude was very indignant. "These are not stolen goods, but the rightful spoils of war. It is _always_ acceptable to claim the property of a fallen enemy. And since these are everybody's enemy, and pretty thoroughly fallen-" she gave the bloody head another kick "-you have every right to their goods, having partaken in the battle." She raised a finger like a scolding mother. "Just be _careful. _And keep it all out of sight..."

They turned away at last, and the elves swarmed over the loot. Loghain sighed. "Maude, you are an agent of chaos."

A shadow soared overheard, black against the red sky. Loghain felt the presence shudder through him like a second heartbeat. There was a scream and blast of flame, and the Archdemon ascended, head twisting on its long neck to declare defiance.

"Yes, our knees are totally knocking, you deliquescing lizard!" Maude shouted back. "I'm coming for you, you miserable vomitous mass!"

A awful roar, and the creature seemed on the point of taking Maude up on her challenge. Its head snaked forward, and then back, as if torn between two choices, each irresistible. In the end, it roared again, and flapped off, toward the tower of Fort Drakon. Maude made a very rude gesture at it.

"Chickenshit," she muttered.

* * *

A few moments later, a handful of dwarves rushed up to tell them that the Archdemon had destroyed the Alienage Bridge. That left only the Dock Bridge standing. Any reinforcements would be slow in coming.

"Anyway," Maude shrugged, "the only way to go is forward, so let's do that."

As they turned down the wide and well-paved King's Road, they had to resort to the mages' spells to clear the way from time to time. Just before they reached the Palace, the enemy thinned out considerably.

"They're probably fortified up ahead," Loghain grunted.

"More or less," Maude agreed.

There were quite a lot of them, but their idea of fortifications was laughable. There were a few traps, which Zevran quickly disabled. After that, it was sheer numbers, falling rapidly to area spells and good teamwork. Ascending the steps to the upper courtyard, the traps were more sophisticated, and the enemy more numerous. All the companions were injured, one way or another: all bleeding from small and unpleasant wounds, by the time the last spellcaster was down and the last trap sprung. Wynne moved busily among the companions and their allies, healing the injuries. She pursed her lips as she stood before Loghain, but she healed the torn flesh from the arrow wound all the same.

"The creatures have not penetrated this structure," remarked Sten, looking about. "The doors are shut and locked, and not significantly damaged. I believe the survivors are within."

"Good news at last!" cried Wynne. "Perhaps we should try to contact them?"

"No," Loghain said. "I hardly think we should go about telling people they are safe, until they are actually _safe_. If they have battened themselves within, let them stay there, and out of our way."

"Sounds good to me," agreed Maude. "I just wish we could ask if somebody's seen Riordan and Leliana. Ask somebody other than darkspawn, that is."

"Once we get to Fort Drakon, Boss," Oghren told her, "You can ask the Archdemon."

* * *

They might be asking it sooner rather than later: The Archdemon was visible, flying over the top of Fort Drakon. The wind carried its roars to them, but faintly, like distant waves on a rocky shore. Something was wrong with its wing: it soared up awkwardly and then flopped down, out of sight on the top of the tower.

The sight made the girl furious. "I should never have let Leliana go with him! Except...he might die otherwise..." she muttered, her pace picking up considerably, "...and I don't exactly want him to _die,_ and I certainly don't want Leliana to die, but he had better _not _kill my Archdemon..."

She kept on muttering as they moved up the broad approach, meeting only scattered resistance. She muttered as they dispatched the darkspawn handily.

"...bloody towers. Whose idea was it to build all these fucking towers anyway? Bloody Tevinters and their bloody dwarven stooges...I hate Fort Drakon...Just die, you stupid thing! I can't tell you how tired I am of you...

It occurred to Loghain that the girl's most recent experiences in Fort Drakon might have somewhat prejudiced her against the place. There had been quite a lot of embarrassment and a great many feeble excuses made when the girl abruptly disappeared from her prison cell almost as quickly as she had been bestowed there. She had fought her way out and killed a score of guards in the process. Loghain knew that she had surrendered to Cauthrien, apparently to protect Anora from harm. He knew nothing about her treatment at Cauthrien's hands, nor what had befallen her afterward. He had not thought it prudent to inquire, as it might be one of those things that transformed her from a charming if eccentric young aristocrat into a raving, murderous lunatic.

At any rate, it did seem that her memories of the place were not agreeable. The tower loomed before them, the massive gate to the courtyard just ajar. Loghain had been looking for the city's defenders all day, and here he found them, or what was left of them. There had been, clearly, a frenzied attack on the fortress, and a nearly equally frenzied-but ultimately futile-defense. The darkspawn must have targeted this place from the first, which was sound strategy, no matter how much Maude scorned the intelligence of the Archdemon.

And the courtyard was _very_ well defended. A shower of arrows greeted Maude as she peered cautiously within. She jerked her head away, with a sour smile, and quoted,

_"Child Rowland to the Dark Tower came. _

_His word was still 'Fie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a Fereldan man...'"_

She added lightly, "I always loved that story, though I felt sorry for Childe Rowland fighting those monsters, of course. It's always a tower, isn't it?"

Morrigan shrugged. "Unless it is a dungeon, or a ruin, or a cursed forest, or a haunted castle, or the Deep Roads."

"True," the girl agreed. "Or a street in Denerim, for that matter. It's always _something_. I really hate towers, though. This is where I came in. What if I make a hash of it, like I did at the Tower of Ishal?"

"You _won't,"_ Loghain assured her, rather alarmed at her state of mind. "No one is waiting for a signal. All we have to do is live long enough to kill the Archdemon."

"If you say so," she said doubtfully.

"I do say so."

"All right then." She told everyone the bad news. "There are _lots _of archers barricaded inside, and we have to cross a lot of open space to get to them. I think there are some powerful spellcasters backing them up."

"Very well," Avernus came forward. "Morrigan and I can raise a storm in the courtyard. Wynne will need to heal us. Your shield arm would also be useful, Loghain, if you do not object to Morrigan behind you."

Loghain nodded briefly to the witch, as she moved up next to him. He ignored her strong and intoxicating smell of lyrium, and said, "Once we have the archers neutralized, we'll need to rely on you three to lock down the spellcasters. The Dalish can shoot from the rear until we're too near their targets, and the dwarves can charge with us."

Everybody was happy with the tactics, and they were working well. The archers were frozen and dead, the barricades were down, the way was clear, and the girl shouted, "Charge!"

And then a small but very savage dragon dropped down in the middle of the courtyard.

Loghain had never seen a dragon close to, other than in the Fade. This smaller creature was not at all like the tainted Archdemon. It-no-_she_-was a healthy, vigorous, very fast brute, and nearly battered him to the ground with her powerful wings. The courtyard fell into pandemonium as more darkspawn rushed them from the tower, and the darkspawn spellcasters attacked them with fire and poison. And Loghain could do nothing about any of that. The dragon was leaping at him, snapping...

A bark and a growl, and Ranger was gnawing at a wingtip. The dragon's head swiveled at the distraction, and its jaws opened wide to blast the mabari to cinders. Loghain bashed the the head away with his shield, and then hacked at the long neck with all the energy he possessed. Hot blood spurted from the wound, and the dragon bellowed in agony. Ranger adjusted his grip, biting down on a joint. It must have hurt, for the dragon fanned its other wing in alarm and stumbled, clawing at them with a huge talon. Ranger yelped and jumped away. Loghain sidestepped the talon, and stabbed at the exposed belly, wincing as the creature's spasms nearly pulled the weapon from his grasp. Ranger leaped in again, yanking at a wing, knocking the dragon off balance.

The dragon's neck was stretched out full length, as she screamed her protests to the skies. Loghain swung his sword, the air about him filled with the music of its wail, and cut through skin, flesh, tend and bone. He screamed himself, triumphant, as the dragon's head thumped to the ground.

He looked up to see that not twenty yards away was another dragon, which the dwarves of the Legion were bringing down. Near the Tower entrance Maude was with Sten and Wynne, overcoming a spellcaster with a great deal of gusto. She hallooed out to him, waving her sword.

"Welcome to the ranks of the dragonslayers, Loghain!"

It had been a nasty fight, and they were lucky not to have lost more of the dwarves than they did. They were catching their breath and licking their wounds, when an elf cried out, pointing, and they saw a pair of bodies fall from the top of the tower.

"Whoa!" the girl moved out of the way, grimacing as one of the bodies hit the ground with a splattering thud. The other hit the side of the tower, bounced, and landed just after. "I hope it's not anybody we know," she murmured, moving in to peer at the bodies.

Loghain vaguely recognized one of the men from the Fort Drakon garrison. The other appeared to be a guard as well, though it was difficult to recognize the face, as the head was missing.

"Right," the girl said. "Somebody other than darkspawn is alive in there. We'd better see to them." She looked over the tower in disgust. "You know, if we had griffons, this would be a _lot _easier."

* * *

The defenders had sold their lives dearly. The anteroom was piled high with human and darkspawn dead. Loghain knew many of these men, and set aside the pain of their loss. They had done their duty, and he hoped there would be anyone remaining to remember their sacrifice. It was darker than he was accustomed to, the interior lit with only a few remaining torches and a few scattered, sullen fires.

Maude motioned everyone to stop, while she and Zevran checked for traps. They saw a few, but they had already been dealt with.

"Leliana was here," Maude grinned back at them. "I'm sure of it!"

But new traps had been set by the waves of darkspawn that had followed. Further in they were met by a group of dead human soldiers, hideously reanimated by a darkspawn mage. Loghain knew one of the men well, and was glad that the shambling corpse of a brave man was closer to Oghren's axe than his own sword.

The huge hall where the ballistae were repaired appeared completely empty, until they moved further in and were attacked by a half-dozen demons. Here the mages were of great help, and both the demons and their darkspawn master were dispatched without hesitation. Their dwarven allies had not seen such beings before, and muttered unhappily among themselves. Loghain carried a detailed map of Fort Drakon in his head, and knew the layout of each room before they opened a door. They moved down, past the barracks. Loghain caught the girl's hands away when she moved toward the men's locked chests, and he gave her a hard look.

"Oh, very well," she sulked.

The lower level was barricaded and inaccessible. Maude picked the lock, but could not open the door.

"Maybe some of the garrison is still alive in there," Loghain hoped.

Maude made a face. The cells were down there, and she clearly would have preferred to go there and set every prisoner free. Nonetheless, there was nothing they could do, and they retraced their steps to the ground floor.

In the last room, littered with dead, they found Sandal Feddic.

It was a mystery never to be solved. Where had the little dwarf come from? He had somehow arrived ahead of them. Had he wandered off? Had he followed Riordan and Leliana? Was it a kind of magic?

At any rate he was there, smiling, and he called out "Enchantment!" at the sight of Maude.

"Sandal?" She came forward cautiously, wondering how it could be. "What are you doing here? There are darkspawn everywhere!"

There was no response. The young dwarf remained smiling, staring happily at Maude's dirty but beautiful face, quite at his ease.

Wynne murmured, "We cannot simply leave him here."

"We can't take him with us, Boss," Oghren declared.

"Quite right," the girl agreed. Taking Sandal by the hand, she said, "Come on, Sandal. I want you to get into this wardrobe I found. Plenty of room...see? Now you stay there and don't make a sound until one of us comes to let you out. Can you do that?"

"Enchantment!"

"That's right, Sandal. Enchantment," Maude agreed, her eyes suspiciously damp. "Be a good lad and don't wander away, all right?"

She shut the door and looked at her companions, blowing out a deep breath. "What?"

"Softie," murmured Sten.

"I'll show you 'softie,'" she snarled, rather embarrassed. "Come on, it's up the endless winding stairs for us."

Loghain took the lead, the girl beside him. He could almost have found his way blindfolded in these halls, and the essence of the darkspawn was so strong here that he could have found them blindfolded, too. They moved from room to room, killing as they went, meeting no resistance that challenged them in any real way.

_Nothing can be as bad as the courtyard,_ Loghain thought. _Or at least nothing until we stand before the Archdemon itself._

One of the arms rooms was packed with genlock archers. That fight took some time, though none of them ever felt in any danger. It was simply wearing and tiresome and a horrible deadly grind.

"This door leads to a corridor that will take us to a big conference chamber and beyond that are the stairs to the top," Loghain told them. "There are barracks on the left, but I think-"

"Something behind the door is quite powerful," Avernus whispered. "It knows we're here."

"Fine," the girl breathed. "I'll open the door, and you freeze whatever is there. Just freeze the whole damned hall."

The door flashed open, the frost shivered out, bringing into view another kind of darkspawn they had not previously met. It was a powerful genlock, strong and fast and well-armed, one of the best warriors Loghain had ever encountered. Darkspawn were held to be mindless, yet this creature fought with skill. It was not until it lay dead, and Wynne was healing the slash in Oghren's thigh, that Loghain had time to consider the matter.

"Fast little bugger," Oghren complained.

"Very fast," Maude agreed, wiping her face. "I'd really rather not meet another one of those. And he was training these others." She nudged a smaller genlock with her boot. "There's more going on in those brains that we thought. Or could this really be a dwarf, corrupted by the Taint?"

"You always know how to brighten a man's day," Oghren grunted.

"But the whole thing could have been a lot more unpleasant!" Maude said. "Avernus, you're the best!"

"I know," the old man said, very seriously.

There were ogres in the conference chamber. They rushed them from either side as their party moved from the corridor into the chamber proper. Two ogres were simply not a problem for them, and they were quickly dispatched. Moving around the big table, they found the corpse of another darkspawn spellcaster. It was still clutching the arrow that had pierced its throat and killed it.

"Nice shooting," Maude remarked. "Those arrows look familiar..."

_"Maude!"_

Leliana was waving at them from the steps leading up to the tower. "Maude!" she shouted again. She ran down the steps, her quiver of arrows clattering on her back.

"I got the emissary, but the ogres were too much for me alone... I am so glad to see you!"

Maude hugged her as well as possible, considering the armor. "Glad to see you, too! Where's Riordan?"

"He's hurt! Wynne, come with me! He's hurt so badly..." She gabbled out, "The Archdemon is on the roof. Riordan leaped on its back, and slashed a wing. It cannot fly now, or not enough to escape the tower. I thought it would fly away with him. I shot it in the eye! It circled the tower and threw Riordan off. He fell...he is badly hurt...His legs are broken... I dragged him inside the doorway so the Archdemon could not get at him, but then the other darkspawn came..."

Wynne and Avernus went with the bard, and Maude watched the rest of their remaining allies arrive. Two score Dalish archers, and two dozen of the Legion. Maude motioned them forward, and opened her arms in a gesture of friendship.

"We all know what we're here for, and today is the day. Before we go, there are things you need to know."

They were listening, crowding close, muttering amongst themselves.

Maude raised her voice. "Only a Warden can slay an Archdemon. If any of you try, terrible things will happen, so terrible that we will not see the end of the Blight in our time or our children's time. A Warden_ must_ strike the killing blow. But all of you can play a part in our victory. The Dalish can disable the Archdemon. It's been shot in one eye. Aim at the other. Aim at the wings. We'll do the rest. As for the Legion: more darkspawn are on the way, summoned by the Archdemon. Don't let them through!"

In a rough semicircle directly in front of Maude were Loghain, Morrigan, Oghren, Zevran, Sten, and, his tail wagging, clever, faithful Ranger.

She smiled, radiantly. "There's nothing more to say that hasn't been said. We all know how to kill dragons. This is just the biggest one. And I'm not going to ask you to die for the cause. I want the _Archdemon_ to die for the cause. So.. follow me, and let's do it!"

She turned to run up the steps, and called back to Loghain. "The last tower, Loghain! The last staircase! Oh, I'm so _glad!"_

The way was long, spiraling up and up into red and lowering daylight. The sound Loghain thought might be thunder was the roar of the Archdemon, as it smashed its way around the top Fort Drakon in a killing rage. At the far end, Wynne, Avernus, and Leliana were huddled together over a supine form that must be Riordan. They had managed to get him up to one of the ballista platforms, where he and Leliana would be relatively safe. Avernus saw Maude and Loghain emerge, and hurried their way. Wynne delayed a little longer, her staff lifted with a final spell, and then she too was coming.

Maude was after the Archdemon at a dead run, and she threw a fire bomb at it. Flames burst forth and spilled down the creature's flank. The Archdemon was already in pain, the shaft of an arrow protruding from its ruined right eye. Loghain cast a desperate look over the scene to find any remaining soldiers. There were many bodies, but none were moving. No time for that. He ran after the girl, wondering how a puny sword could make an impression on that vast bulk. Ranger leaped up, nipping at the beast's lowered head. It shrieked and reared back. Ranger had the good sense to let go.

Wynne cast healing spells on them, over and over, until Loghain wondered if there was a limit to how many times flesh would knit. And Morrigan—much as he distrusted her, he could not deny her indomitable courage, her powerful magic, her ferocious beauty in battle.

Killing the Archdemon would be exactly as the girl had once described killing a High Dragon: like chipping away at an ancient tree. Like chipping away at a _very _ancient tree, using dull axes. Even Avernus' mighty ice spells could slow the monster only briefly. Maude splashed a nasty looking brew from a little flask liberally over her sword and dagger in one of those breathing spaces. She grinned at Loghain, offering to do the same for his own blade. He extended his sword, scowling at the strange stink. "Is this what you used on me?" he snarled.

"Never in the world!" she laughed, and went for the Archdemon again. It lashed out wildly with its tail, and Sten and Oghren tumbled like puppets. The Archdemon screamed at them and managed a short flight to escape its tormentors.

"It's in range of the ballistae!" Loghain shouted, grabbing at Maude.

The splendid girl saw at once what he meant. She shouted, "Sten! Zevran!" She gestured to the next-closest ballista. "There! Oghren! Guard the mages!" She dashed up the wooden steps and was swinging the war machine around, setting the sights at the Archdemon. Loghain wiped and sheathed his sword, and hefted a bolt, manhandling it into place.

She hit the Archdemon with her first try, and shrieked in rapture. Zevran was not quite so adept (the assassin had probably never dreamed of using such a weapon), but with Sten's guidance, he too was soon hitting the flailing Archdemon with the massive iron-shod bolts.

"Oh!" the girl remembered, and doused the tip with her poison. "This should be just the thing!" She fired, and the Archdemon screamed again. Avernus froze it, so Zevran could aim his own bolt with deadly precision. At length, the Archdemon shook off the spell, and bewildered, limped out of range.

A wave of darkspawn spewed out of the doorway, summoned by the Archdemon to defend it. The Legion of the Dead was ready for them. A blazing battle ensued, as the Legion refused to give an inch to the darkspawn onslaught. Legionnaires died where they stood, and darkspawn were hewed to pieces. The Archdemon lifted its bulk in a short, jerky flight, and landed among the Legion, smashing at them.

It was weakened, but still deadly—still spewing purple, still lashing out with its tail, still capable of—Maker! That was _Kardol _in its jaws! The Archdemon shook Kardol and dropped him, and they could see that the tough little bugger was somehow still alive. Well—time enough to heal him if they survived. Maude vaulted onto the Archdemon's back, and stabbed down at its neck, shrieking with every thrust. It shook her off, and she swore at it.

At last the creature flapped feebly away, and the girl cried "Come on!" and charged after it. Rowan herself had never been a more inspiring comrade.

But Loghain was after her, keeping to her right, and he had a mission. They were there, under the belly of the beast, hacking and stabbing and poisoning and cursing, and it was weakening—it really was _weakening_—when it blasted them aside with a sudden rally.

The girl was up in a flash and moving in for the final attack, her eyes wild with the fever of battle-

And then Loghain lashed out with his shield, and knocked her flying. Behind him he heard her fall with a crash of armor.

"Loghain! You _bastard!"_ she shrieked.

Far in front, Loghain answered with a deep, mocking laugh, and rushed the Archdemon, leaving the girl behind. Avernus had hit the Archdemon with ice once more, and there was an opening...

She was up and after him at once.

"Loghain! Don't you dare! That's _my_ Archdemon, and_ I'm_ going to kill it!"

She tried the move that had worked in their duel, but—no fool he!—he remembered, and dodged the other way, catching her with his shield again.

"I claim my forfeit!" he shouted. The blood in his veins sang with victory.

"Like bloody hell you do!" she screamed. And just as in those first moments of their duel, she found herself flat on her back.

"Ow!"

He laughed again. This last moment of his life might be the sweetest.

The dragon raised its head to bellow a challenge...

...And Loghain was running at it, falling gracefully on one knee under the offered throat, sword slashing its entire length.

_"No!" _The girl wailed. She was on her feet at last, running after him. She was only yards away-

Too late. Covered with blood, Loghain rose up, roared, and drove The Keening Blade into the Archdemon's brain.

* * *

Afterward, it was said that the sky lit up as if a thousand thousand shooting stars had rained down on Denerim. The darkness lightened to day as the blaze of magic burst out in a shock wave from the top of Fort Drakon. Refugees hiding near the top of Dragon's Peak claimed to have seen the flash.

When Loghain's sword pierced the brain of the Archdemon, the spear of light that shot out of the wound had stopped the fighting at Fort Drakon, as friend and foe stared as if ensorcelled. The ensuing blast knocked every single being on Fort Drakon's roof off his feet.

Loghain was conscious of almost none of it. Choking on dragon's blood, he was inside the bolt of power, held fast by raw magic that arced in and out of him in pain and ecstasy combined. For a moment, he became the Archdemon, seeing the world slipping away, raging against the disgusting little creatures that had challenged his divine right. He experienced millennia of glory and millennia of imprisonment; the worship of a great civilization; the rapture of consuming the unblemished sacrifices; the fall from power and the endless darkness of exile.

A whirlwind of dust surrounded his head. Loghain sneezed, and the vision began to fade. For a moment, he saw the world as both Loghain and as the Old God Urthemiel. The girl had roused herself, pushing herself up on her hands; had leaped to her feet and grabbed him. Panic-stricken, she was blowing a handful of ashes into his face. Up his nose, in fact. Loghain sneezed again. He glared at the girl, remembering that in the old days he could have demanded that she be offered up to him during the Days of Abasement. The ashes swirled about them, sparkling motes in a pillar of white flame. Maude began sneezing, too.

There was a sudden withdrawal within him, like poison sucked from a wound. The vision of Urthemiel was gone. Sputtering, Loghain gave the girl a shove."Get off me, you little lunatic!" He sneezed again.

"Fuck you, Loghain! I'm saving your life!" She waved her hand, and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to fend off another fit of sneezing. She was sticky with dragon's blood and looked like nothing human. She was also the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even when trying not to sneeze.

Instead, it was Loghain who sneezed. Again and again. He wondered if the top of his head would actually fly off.

"You're sneezing out Andraste," the girl smirked. "What would the Chantry say?"

He should have guessed. "We can only hope they never know." He sneezed three times, violently, and sat down, exhausted.

Loghain was aware of a sharp pain in his hip, where the hilt of a dropped dagger was poking him. He snarled, and then coughed up a mouthful of dragon's blood. He spat it out, and then sneezed again. Very gingerly, he pulled himself into a sitting position, his back against the dragon's jaw. Still not very comfortable, but better. He supposed he should get to his feet and give orders or do something, but it seemed less trouble to die. He was supposed to be dead, after all. What had gone wrong? Surely the Ashes of Andraste could not have actually saved him from death?

Maude sank down and sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder, with a soft huff of effort.

She turned her head to him, and scowled fiercely.

"There'll be no living with you now, I suppose."

* * *

They were mostly alive, which was pretty amazing. Everyone had the same somewhat surprised look on his or her face. Sten pretended to be stoic, but you could make it out, even with him. Riordan, aside from his pain, was frankly astonished, but not displeased: not with Leliana hanging over him with her welcome canteen and her soothing fingers stroking his brow. Yes, they all looked rather surprised to be alive. All but one. Ranger whined pitifully, and they gathered to see what was wrong.

Avernus lay partly under the Archdemon, crushed as the dying monster fell on him. His dead face was stretched wide in a yellow-toothed grin, as if he had just played the greatest prank in the history of pranks. He had told them that a Warden must die in order to slay the Archdemon, and indeed, a Warden had died. Maude stumbled over to him and fell on her knees, wiping away her tears with one hand, while with the other she deftly picked his pockets.

* * *

_Note: Thanks to my readers and reviewers, especially Guilde, Sarah1281, Enaid Aderyn, Piceron, Amhran Comhrac, icey cold, Chatoyant Tiger, fussycat, sleepyowlet, mousetalker, Gene Dark, ArtemysFayr, JackOfBladesX, Eva Galana, Aoihand, wisecracknmama, Zute, mille libri, Reyavie, Windchime68, Gaj620, mutive, mieuwings, Evalyne, Prisoner 24601, Leask, Shakespira, and Speculation._

_I have reversed the Wardens' advance through the Alienage from the game, since it does not make sense to me to go to the Alienage from the Gate and then to the Market, and then somehow to the Palace (since the alienage bridge is destroyed). Therefore, my Wardens do not enter from the city and leave by the bridge to the market, but move in the opposite direction: Gate, east to the Market, south to the Alienage, southwest to the Palace, and southwest again to Fort Drakon. I am presuming that either the defenders or the attackers destroyed the two westernmost bridges over the river._

_"Childe Rowland to the dark tower came..." is from King Lear. In Robert Browning's poem, "Childe Roland to the dark tower came" is both title and last line. "Childe" is an archaic term for the child of a nobleman who has not yet been awarded the honor of knighthood.  
_

_Next up: "The Hero of Just About Everything. Again."  
_


	11. The Hero of Just About Everything Again

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 11: The Hero of Just About Everything. Again.**

How pleasant it would have been, Loghain thought, if after slaying the Archdemon, he could have fallen unconscious for a day or two, and had not had to deal with the messy aftermath of the horde's invasion.

A day or two? A week would have been better. As it was, he had to get up, pull himself together, and start giving orders, because everybody was looking at him.

Between them, the dwarves and the Dalish were finishing off the last of the darkspawn. Some of the monsters, disoriented and mindless from the lost of their leader, threw themselves from the roof.

Maude ran over to see.

"Look out below!" She shrugged, and muttered, "Hope they heard me. That would be a really stupid way to die."

She looked past Loghain, and then cocked a brow at him. He turned at her gesture and saw the goggling troops who had emerged on to the top of Fort Drakon, apparently just in time to see Loghain standing over a dead Archdemon.

"Perhaps you should say a few words?" she suggested. "Take a bow? They're looking quite impressed."

He grunted and called out to the awestruck soldiers, "Yes, that's the Archdemon. Yes, it's dead. Gather the darkspawn corpses and pile them…there. Don't get the blood on your bare skin. We'll have the mages burn them on the spot. Look for any surviving defenders, and we'll get them some healing."

The Keening Blade was still lodged in the Archdemon's skull. Loghain put his boot on the beast's head and pulled, long and slow, and with a grating of metal against bone, he drew the sword free. A ragged edge of a dead soldier's shirt was sufficient to wipe it clean. He sheathed it with a feeling of utter completion.

Maude was looking a little sulky, he thought. Well, too bad. He had claimed his forfeit, and got his revenge on her for cheating at the Landsmeet. Besides, what did it really matter who did the dragonslaying, as long as the Archdemon was dead?

Morrigan sat by the body of Avernus, her face unreadable. Wynne was giving quick orders for clean, unused casks. Loghain was grateful for her efficiency. Avernus had given her a task to do, and she was about it.

She was saying, "Now, let me have a look at your shoulder, Zevran—no—don't touch it…"

Some of the men were doing as they were told, but quite a few were still staring at him. A few old veterans looked like they were actually about to shed tears.

One burst out, "Maker bless you, my lord! I always knew you'd save us!"

Wynne rolled her eyes, but the man's words were seconded, loudly and enthusiastically, and then the silly fellows raised a ragged cheer. Surprisingly, the dwarves and the Dalish started cheering too.

Maude smiled tightly, standing at his side, looking bloody but ornamental. Oghren was grinning, and the qunari sat cleaning his own blade, taking it all in. The dog came up to Loghain on his other side, tail wagging, and gave a cheerful bark. The men cheered again at the classic Fereldan scene. Or rather, the scene Loghain knew, with crawling dread, that was destined to be a Ferelden classic.

"That's enough!" Loghain shouted, interrupting the orgy of self-congratulation. "We have work to do."

A party of men was chosen to go back down into the fort and try to contact any possible survivors. If the beings behind the barred doors were human, and not darkspawn, they were to go down to the kitchen, rouse the cooks, and provide food for everyone.

Another party was to go to the medical supply rooms, and bring up poultices and some litters. The clouds were gathering, and it was starting to look like rain. They must get the wounded below, out of the weather and into the big conference room. The dead would laid out as far from them as possible.

"We should try to contact whoever is in the Palace," Maude suggested quietly. "Behind twenty feet of stone they might not have seen the fireworks."

"True," he approved, and gave the order to the waiting soldiers. "I want a dozen men to go to the Palace. The doors are barred there. See if anything human is alive, and tell them to stay there if they're safe. If you meet any significant resistance, come back here immediately. We'll be along directly."

"And what of him?" Morrigan demanded, yellow eyes blazing. She was pointing at the dead Avernus. "Is he to be forgotten and thrown aside?"

Maude went over to Morrigan. Pulling off her gauntlet, she put her hand on the witch's shoulder, murmuring comfort.

"Of course not," Loghain said impatiently. He turned to a pair of worshiping soldiers. "You—and you. Warden Avernus was killed. Carry him to the small staff office below, and put a guard on the body. He deserves a special memorial."

"Poor old sod," muttered one of the soldiers, bending over to pick up the mage's shattered body. "Imagine an old geezer like him having the stones to face the Archdemon!"

"Who's she?" whispered his mate, jerking his head at Morrigan. "Reckon she's his daughter?"

"Granddaughter, more like…"

* * *

Everyone was starving. Not just the Wardens, who were always starving, but really everyone.

A large force had barricaded itself in the dungeons, and opened the door to a world without the Blight.

"_Teyrn Loghain slew the Archdemon! It's over!"_

The news was passed from mouth to mouth, and there were shouts, joyful exclamations, slaps on the back, and everyone fell to work to celebrate, or at least, to pick up the pieces. Food and water were provided, and laid out in the big dining hall on the second floor.

Being a proper fortress, there was a deep well below Fort Drakon, protected by the rock of the dungeons. A bucket brigade busily sent water up to the kitchen and beyond, for the defenders were thirsty, of course, but also filthy and reeking to a degree that eating in their presence would be so repulsive as to defeat the purpose, so to speak.

Luckily, Maude was too busy to follow up on her first impulse, which was to go down to the dungeons herself.

"It would have been _nice_," she snarked bitterly, "had those dungeons guards actually manned up and fought the darkspawn. Of course, guarding naked, caged prisoners is ever so much more _important."_

"Don't go down there, Maude," Loghain said, his voice for her ears only.

"I suppose I already have enough to do. If I saw anybody down there I recognized, I'd kill them, and that would spoil the celebratory mood, I daresay." She ran off briefly, with Lanaya and some of the Dalish, to retrieve Sandal from his wardrobe, and then found a reliable dwarf to look after him until he could be reunited with his father.

After that, she scrubbed her face and neck again. Her helmet had protected her hair from the worst of the filth, but any exposed area was a map of dust and blood—and worse. Loghain had already washed, but knew nothing but a hot bath would clear away everything. Maybe two or three hot baths.

Leliana was carefully washing Riordan, and Maude brought a bucket of fresh water over to her. Maude wanted to keep Riordan with them, and Loghain was feeling generous enough to let her have her way in small things. The soldiers could carry him on the litter until the fellow could manage for himself. Zevran had been wounded, but with Oghren's help, was getting about well enough. Loghain was feeling superlatively well himself, but Wynne and Avernus had healed him throughout the battle, and of course, there had been the matter of the Ashes of Andraste...

"You should take care of yourself, too," Maude said to Leliana, a clean linen rag in her hand. "Here—let me…Wynne, come here, will you? Leliana has a cut on her neck."

"It's nothing," Leliana insisted.

"It's _bleeding, _now that I washed away the dirt," Maude contradicted.

Wynne busy with some soldiers at the other end of the room, fired a quick healing spell Leliana's way. It glittered briefly, and the skin healed over.

"That's convenient," Maude muttered, and then called, "Thank you!" to the healer.

There was food at last: huge cauldrons of the heavy stew that was always on the simmer at Fort Drakon, but was today watered down to a soup, to feed the multitudes of human, elven, and dwarven warriors. There were stacks of wooden bowls and spoons, and the surviving servants hurried over with the first helpings to the Wardens and their party, standing around, gawking at Loghain in frank adoration. Maude sighed, and quietly sipped her soup.

"This isn't bad!" Oghren said, soup dripping from his moustache.

Zevran agreed, feeling much better for the food. "Today, anything would be fit for the Queen of Antiva!" He considered his soup. "Well, maybe with a bit more garlic. And oregano. And a touch of tarragon."

"And some mushrooms," grinned Riordan, wincing as he sat up slowly.

"Mushrooms are good," agreed Zevran. "And of course in Antiva, this would not be made of old ox, but of a delightful blend of fish and mussels and maybe some octopus, yes? A little white wine in the broth. And some crusty bread with olive oil."

"Olive oil," murmured Sten, a little regretfully. "Yes, bread with olive oil is excellent."

"Olives do not grow in this climate." Leliana sighed. "But they do make very good butter and cheese in Ferelden."

"And cookies," Sten added. "Many varieties. It is one of the most attractive features of this land."

"Nan used to—" Maude began, and then said, "We'll have to write down some recipes for you to take home. They might impress the arishok even more than your answer to their questions about the Blight!"

"That is indeed possible," Sten agreed. "The Blight is over, and information about it will indeed be of great value and interest to the arishok, but the cookies will be of benefit to all the qunari people!"

Morrigan scoffed at that: a "Hmph!" of wordless disdain. She was sitting a little apart, as she often did. Maude took her bowl with her and sat down by her friend, then pulled something from under her armor.

"Avernus left something for you, Morrigan." It appeared to be letter with something inside. Morrigan immediately broke the seal, and out tumbled a small, corked flask. She moved away, and read the letter, her face turned aside.

"You too, Loghain," Maude said, passing him some folded, sealed parchment.

"Sharing your loot again?" he asked.

"There's no need to be nasty about it. I'm giving you the letter he left you. What? You think I should have let some soldier go through his things and throw his letters away? Of course I searched his body. Wouldn't you rather be searched by a friend than a stranger? I know I would. If I die, you have my whole-hearted permission to go through my pockets."

"And I'm sure you'd do the same for me."

"Of course I would."

"Was there something for anyone else?"

"He left me a ring, with a note attached. A ring of Sophia's that he wanted me to have. He said I should remember that anything I saw at the Peak wasn't Sophia, and how much she would have hated to be remembered like that. _I_ know that demon wasn't Sophia, but I can't blame him for wanting to be sure. It's a lovely ring, too, and it fits. Just like her armor."

She slipped it on, heavy gold with a large ruby set into it. The ruby was smoothed into a domed cabochon, with a rayed star gleaming in its depths.

"I've heard of star sapphires, though I've never seen one. This must be a star ruby. Isn't it pretty? Rubies are nice and hard, too, so I can wear it all the time. It was kind of Avernus to think of me, and tell me to be a good girl and all, and how to find the rest of the funds at Soldier's Peak. I expect you want to read your letter."

Loghain did, and pushed his empty soup bowl away.

_Loghain—_

_Apparently, I am dead. Since I am dead, I presume that our young Maude has pinched this from my corpse, which is just as I planned. If you are reading this, then you have survived, which was also my plan. I could not know for certain if my spell to attract the essence of the Archdemon to myself would be effective, but hundreds of years of experience does tend to make one reasonably confident of one's abilities._

_No doubt you will have to explain all this to Weisshaupt. I have enclosed my notes for the spell, written in Arcanum, for the rest of the Warden mages to ponder. The rest of the world need not know. I desire nothing more than oblivion. Let the glory be yours, for you will make more of it than I ever could!_

_I urge you to be kind to that young woman of yours. The potion you drank may give you more years than you would otherwise expect, and you would do well to share those years with a well-disposed companion. I know whereof I speak, having spent over a century with only ghosts and demons for company._

_The Archdemon may be dead, but the darkspawn are not annihilated. What will follow is the period known as the "Thaw," in which the land continues to be plagued by the surviving darkspawn drawn to the surface by the Archdemon. Thaws can last for decades. It would be desirable if the period were as brief as possible, and to that end you will no doubt wish to rebuild the Wardens. __This is the perfect opportunity to see that the Grey Wardens of Ferelden are indeed-Fereldan._

_Do not neglect to recruit some intelligent mages. You can put the word out discreetly that apostates are welcome. We tried this in my day and had quite a satisfactory response. My notes concerning that and some other matters are at Soldier's Peak, in a niche under my work table. You may wish this information to be particular to the Ferelden Grey Wardens. If you wish to share them with the Order at large, that is your decision. _

_I must point out that Morrigan is a very intelligent and capable mage, now that she is free of her "mother." In fact, as there is a possibility that Flemeth is only temporarily in abeyance, you might suggest that being a Grey Warden would tend to reduce the chances that Flemeth would wish to inhabit her body. What Flemeth cannot know is the degree to which my improved potion mitigates some of the worst effects of the Joining. I have given Morrigan a dose, which will only be of use to her if she consents to Join us. She knows my thoughts on this._

_A pity I cannot live to see the changes Maude will make to Soldier's Peak! Were I to return as a spirit, it is probable that I should not recognize the place, and that is as it should be. It is time for the Grey Wardens of Ferelden to enter a new era, and it is only fitting that their dwelling reflect the changing times._

_While you became a Warden unwillingly, you cannot deny that it was the Hand of Destiny, and a benevolent Hand indeed, since it has saved the country we both love. There is no one more fitted to carry on the great and unending struggle than you. The tainted cup that threatened death has instead given you victory, glory, and love._

_I'm not deaf, you know. _

_Farewell, my young brother,_

_Avernus_

A stir on the stairs and a messenger arrived with his report. Loghain tucked his letter away for later consideration. The red-faced courier was bursting with good news.

"My lord, we made it to the Palace! There are some darkspawn here and there in the streets, but they're on the run. We got to the Palace and pounded and yelled a bit, and then Dougal threw a rock through a window with a note attached. So they unbarred the doors, and what do you think! There are hundreds of people—maybe a thousand! - sheltering in the Landsmeet Chamber! Only a few darkspawn made it into the Palace itself, and the Palace Guard held them off! Some of the City Guard was there, too. We passed on your orders to stay put, and told them the good news!"

Loghain frowned. Not because he was displeased, but because he was thinking. And while he was thinking, Maude had something to say.

"Using the Landsmeet Chamber to protect the common folk? What a good idea! No one in the Palace Guard could possibly have come up with that one!"

Wynne would not be going with them. Between tending to the injured and collecting blood, she felt she could not leave Fort Drakon that day, and asked that when other mage healers arrived, they would be sent to assist her.

"Well, _I_ think we should go to the Palace," Maude declared. "I bloody well don't want to sleep in Fort Drakon tonight!"

They left soon after: a mixed party of Wardens and their companions, plus the Dalish and a small unit of dwarves. If it had been like a story book, the Sun would have burst forth to join in the celebration. This was Ferelden, however, and it was just starting to mizzle a bit as they headed to the Palace. Now and then Morrigan cast a fire spell to immolate the darkspawn dead lying heaped in the King's Road.

"That'll will probably keep the mages busy for at least a week," Oghren remarked cheerfully. "Lends a certain fragance to the proceedings."

"I will admit that it has for the moment entirely masked the smell of wet dog," said Sten. After a while he added, "It is not an improvement."

Ranger agreed.

Magical healing was a wonder, and Riordan was now able to get along, helped by Leliana. The Dalish had elected to come with them, for Lanaya wanted to connect with the rest of the clans, and also send archers to see that the alienage for secure for the night. She and Maude were talking about the alienage now, in soft voices. Loghain tried not to listen. His conscience was not entirely clear where the alienage was concerned.

Four times along their route a few isolated darkspawn leaped out at them, only to be shot down instantly by Dalish arrows. Loghain had drawn his sword, but did not need to use it. It was practically a holiday—with darkspawn.

Ahead they could see the palace, and that the wide doors were opening. A few people in armor came out, and starting shouting and waving, and then appeared to be shouting and waving at the people inside. More emerged: a sizable number. Most were waving, too.

"They look very happy to see us," said Zevran. "That is a pleasant change."

"Keep your weapons handy." Maude's cynical tone surprised Loghain. "Usually people are only happy to see us when they're in mortal danger."

"They don't look frightened," Leliana said. "It looks...more like a party!"

"A party?" Sten was intrigued. "Perhaps there will be cake!"

Loghain recognized a tall, slim, and armored figure at the top of the steps, and his stride lengthened. He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. So she had survived. Relief, guilt, and pride washed over him. He had no eyes for the others standing beside her.

But Maude had. She halted briefly, and then matched her stride to Loghain's. He glanced at her, and saw that she was staring at the crowd before them, eyes huge and tearful. He was faintly concerned to see that she actually looked...frightened.

And then cheering started up again. Who was here to greet them? Cauthrien, of course, looking like she'd like him to give her an order. But who was that she was standing next to, in that way that she had that expressed "loyal subordinate" so perfectly?

_Bloody hell!_

Ranger began barking madly. With a wry grin, the big, shaggy fellow in armor opened his arms. Maude dashed forward to embrace her brother, crying, "Fergus! Fergus!"

* * *

From what Loghain could gather so far, Fergus Cousland really had saved much of what had been saved in Denerim. Above all, he had saved lives.

Allowing the refugees to shelter in the Landsmeet Chamber was Fergus Cousland's idea, apparently. The place stank of stale sweat and human waste. What it did not reek of was hopelessness. Some attempt had been made to feed the people, and that only added to the smell and confusion. A roar went up as the Wardens and their companions entered: cheers and tears and grateful cries; soldiers good-naturedly holding back the press of people wanting to thank them...thank him...to assure him of their undying gratitude and loyalty.

The girl beside him was frankly crying, clutching at her brother's hand. Cauthrien was talking quickly and urgently, giving him her report of the past week. It would take some time to digest it.

Eamon had left no one left in overall command, perhaps fearing to create a rival. It was all confusion...The commander of Fort Drakon had not been given authority over the rest of the city...Certain things within the purview of the Arl of Denerim simply had not been done...The rest of the nobility was either with the Queen's Army, or had fled north on horseback, or had taken ship...The scene at the docks had been a nightmare, and many people had been crushed in the panic...the Archdemon had blown the Great Gate apart, and the horde had swarmed in...there was nothing to do but to withdraw...

To his other side, he could hear Fergus Cousland telling his sister his own story: "I got here two days ago, riding hard to warn the city. I didn't know what else to do, so I came here to the Palace to offer my services. What a mess! The commander of the City Guard, the commander of the Palace Guard, the commander of Fort Drakon, and the docks captain were all locked in this mad power struggle. Two of the bastards actually pretended not to know me! Luckily, Ser Calador, the commander here, had a bit of sense. Cauthrien's been a tower of strength. I don't know if you know this new friend of mine, Sergeant Kylon..."

"Yes, of course!" The girl reached over to shake the other man's hand. "Of course I recognize you, Sergeant! I'm so glad to see you alive!"

Cauthrien caught the end of Fergus' narrative, and nodded. "Calador was killed this morning, when the darkspawn broke through the servant's entrance. We had a hard fight of it, but then the darkspawn just pulled back and rushed off, as if they'd been summoned elsewhere."

Leliana sighed. "The darkspawn_ had _been summoned elsewhere," she murmured.

Loghain could still not quite recollect where he had seen the City Guardsman. Maude whispered, "That's Sergeant Kylon. He's very nice. He threw lots of Guard work my way when I was a starving rebel."

Loghain had only a moment to glare at the man. The massive crowd in the Landsmeet Chamber was clamoring for his attention. In between cheers were cries and questions:

_"-Here now, my lord, when can we go home?"_

_"-Are the darkspawn all dead?"_

_"-Where's the Queen? Is she all right?"_

_"-Is it true that the mages are in league with the darkspawn?"_

_"-Oi! I heard it was them elves that were in league with 'em!"_

_"-I heard it was both!"_

_"-The Chantry closed its doors and locked them, my lord! Locked us clean out! Is that right, I ask you?"_

"Enough!" Loghain bellowed. "Stay here tonight! The streets have not yet been made safe. Tomorrow we will search the city for any surviving darkspawn. When you_ do_ leave, be careful not to touch the darkspawn dead. Their blood is deadly poison. Yes, the Queen is safe. She is with the main body of the army, and must have reached the city by now. Another large force is at the Great Gate, keeping the remains of the horde out of the city."

There were murmurs, as people were soothed and began to settle down.

Loghain went on. "Our allies have been instrumental in our victory: the Dalish elves, the mages, and the dwarves of Orzammar! Mages, in fact, will be along to burn the bodies of the darkspawn. It is the only safe way to dispose of them. Obey the Queen's officers, and keep the peace. This night may be long, but the worst is over!"

And then they cheered him again. Fergus Cousland and Cauthrien cheered as loud as the rest.

Cauthrien led the way up the stairs to the Council Chamber, its broad, long table as polished bright as ever. It seemed centuries ago that Maude had vaulted it and jumped out the window, to Maric's amusement…

She did not look likely to play any such pranks at the moment. Besides, the mullioned windows were shut fast against the rain. Water sheeted down the glass, Drops became rivulets, rivulets torrents. Thunder crashed distantly, and the rain came down harder.

"Thank the Maker!" Fergus said. "That should put out most of the fires."

"And scour away some of the filth…" his sister murmured. Loghain hesitated to take his old chair, but then decided that it was very likely the last time he would be here, so why not? Maude automatically took the chair next to him, something that was not lost on her brother, or on Cauthrien. The other companions shed bits of armor and slumped into the seats with relief.

In the corridor outside, the seneschal, his hair unkempt and standing straight up, conferred distractedly with some servants. He issued frantic commands, and the servants nodded and agreed or complained and made excuses.

The big city map was called for, and in the interim, Maude made the introductions.

"Fergus, I want you to meet my friends, and very good friends they are: Morrigan, Leliana, Riordan who is a Warden from Orlais, but who was born in Highever—"

"Where?" Fergus asked the man, his attention caught by the name of home.

"Highever City itself, my lord, in Lutestring Lane,"

"Really?" Fergus smiled. "Well met!"

"Lutestring Lane!" Leliana murmured. "How charming!"

Riordan shook his head, smiling. "Not really. That's were the tanneries are!"

Maude went on. "…and this is Sten of the Beresaad, and this is Zevran Aranai from Antiva.."

Fergus' smile faltered for a moment, and then became warmer. He nodded affably at the elf.

"…And this is Oghren, who came with us all the way from Orzammar. Two of our companions are not here. Our healer, Wynne, remained at Fort Drakon to treat the wounded. And Warden Avernus…"

"-was killed," Morrigan said, crisp and bitter.

"I'm very sorry," Fergus said kindly to her. "We've all born our share of losses."

Morrigan shrugged ungraciously, but the gesture was lost in the bustle of the seneschal..

"I beg your pardon, my lord," He said to Loghain, his bearing not nearly as pompous as usual, "but as the Palace is so full, I wondered if the Warden and her companions would object to staying in the old Grey Warden compound. It is not in the best condition, and has been used for storage for some—"!

"The Warden Compound!" cried Maude. "I've always wanted to see it! Oh, yes! That's splendid!"

Fergus looked a little taken aback at such boldness, and the seneschal's eyes widened, but Loghain agreed to it at once.

"Evidently that is a popular idea. Prepare the place as best you can…and Revere…" Loghain said gravely.

"Yes, my lord?"

"I am not 'your lord,' but a Warden as well, so I will stay there too. See to it."

The seneschal looked near tears. "Yes, my lor—Warden."

"Do you have anything to drink around here?" wondered Oghren. Fergus Cousland grinned at him.

Loghain jerked his head at the seneschal, who scurried off.

The big map of the city was spread out on the table, and they sat over it for some time, planning for first light.

Fergus and Cauthrien had sent scouts out themselves. One party had made it to the Alienage, to discover that the elves were still alive and defended by a few dwarves and a number of somewhat hostile Dalish elves who had told the scouts bluntly that they were allies of the Warden, and not of any shemlen queen. The Alienage Bridge had been destroyed, but Loghain already knew that.

Another party had gone north to see if they could get through to the Gate, and had discovered the darkspawn had destroyed both of those bridges. Loghain had thought the defenders had done that, but apparently not. Considering how ill-coordinated the defense had been, he should not be surprised.

Another party had not returned at all. That was not surprising, either.

Fort Drakon was secure, he could tell them in his turn. The grain stores beneath it were safe, but what had happened to the other granaries was anyone's guess.

"Has anybody had a look at what's going on at the Arl of Denerim's estate?" Maude asked. "The darkspawn might have fortified it."

"We don't know," Fergus told her. "But we should definitely have a look tomorrow."

Loghain considered. "We need the estate. It would be a place to house a great many of the allies."

Plans to scout and then move on the estate were made; and then hot spiced wine was brought, and bread and cheese and trays of pastries.

"See, Sten?" Maude said lightly, sipping her wine. "We _are_ having a party—a strategy party. I think it's rather nice."

"Indeed," Sten agreed. "I shall speak of this to the arishok."

Maude drifted away to speak to her brother. Their voices were low, and the girl appeared unhappy and apologetic, while the brother seemed to be attempting to reassure her.

Their rooms were ready, and the seneschal led the way. Cauthrien gave Loghain a triumphant smirk and a quick nod, then turned and strode away to her own rest. Fergus and Maude embraced again (with much clanging of armor), and whispered some confidences before bidding one another good night. Maude came to Loghain's side, full of curiosity about the compound.

"This is interesting. I don't know anything about the compound. Alistair mentioned it only once. I never thought I'd see it, and it apparently had too many memories for him."

Loghain shrugged, hoping that the seneschal had removed the unpleasant signs of defacement before the girl saw the place. If not, he would just have to comfort her distress. "It's not much more than the Justinian Tower and a big room attached, with some cellars and a kitchen below."

"Not another tower!" the girl groaned.

"It's not a particularly _tall _tower," Loghain assured her.

"I'm so _sick_ of towers," she muttered.

The compound was not as bad as he had expected. The Wardens had only used it for twenty years, and thus it was not exactly redolent with their history anyway. The seneschal had tactfully removed the slashed pictures and some of the trash. The old Warden's Hall was now simply a big storeroom with an attractively vaulted ceiling, full of boxes and bales and casks. When time permitted, it should all put in order, in the event that the new King felt nostalgic. Duncan's study had been pretty thoroughly searched and everything of value removed, but Maude would not know that, since the bookcases had been moved, too. The tower bedchambers, other than being stripped of personal possessions, were in usable condition. Another time Maude could explore the storage cellars, the bathroom, and the kitchen below. She might even find things that Loghain's soldiers had missed.

Riordan's strength was flagging badly, and Leliana helped him into the first bedchamber they came to: the one that connected with the study. It had been Duncan's, so perhaps that was fitting. The seneschal had obviously not intended this at all, and huffed indignantly.

Loghain frowned at him, and Revere dropped the matter, satisfying himself by offering one of the remaining two rooms on that level to Loghain, and the other to Maude. The other companions bickered, going up the winding stairs, about who would have what on the next floor, and Morrigan firmly insisted that she wanted to be "apart, and at the uppermost level possible."

Maude gave Loghain a faint, rueful smile, a soft "Good night," and shut the door.

Loghain stared at the closed door, caught a little flat-footed by her rapid departure. Was that _it_? He had killed an Archdemon today and his blood still pulsed with victory. It was unbelievably anti-climatic to simply...go to bed. He looked around the room, scowling, but the plain furniture and white-washed walls offered no answers.

A very plain room indeed: as plain as the cell of a priest or a Templar. A wide bed, a bedside table with a candlestand, an empty chest, an empty armor stand, a plain washstand, with a blessed pitcher of hot water, and a bucket of cold water on the floor beside it. The basin was clean, and there was even soap and a towel. The servants had worked hard.

Yes, they had worked hard: they had not only made the room presentable, but also expunged any hint of the identity or personality of the man who had once lived here. A man, Loghain guessed, if only because Duncan had almost exclusively recruited men. Wild young Maude was an anomaly among the Wardens, just as she was among the Fereldan nobility. The events at Highever had been a disaster for her, but an opportunity for Duncan.

What had drawn Duncan's eye? Loghain disliked the notion that it had been the girl's beauty. Such things were entirely a matter of taste. He knew nothing about Duncan's relations with women, but the image of Duncan lusting after Maude made him queasy. _Bastard._ No: if Duncan had wanted to conscript good-looking girls, he would have done it long before. More likely, it was the girl's high birth, coupled with her extraordinary and rather idiosyncratic skill at arms. She fought brilliantly, but she fought like no one else. And she had other, more indefinable qualities...

There was a soft knock at the door, but it was only Revere.

"Beg pardon, my lord-er, Warden-but I wanted to know if I could get anything for you before you retire for the night? Shall I send in a valet to assist you with your armor?"

"No," Loghain answered instantly, "but if there's any of that wine left, bring it to me, along with two goblets."

"Yes, my lord. Warden." The man scuttled away in embarrassment.

Was she angry with him? _Was that it? _Or perhaps she had grown prudent, finding her brother alive. Fergus Cousland would certainly care if his sister made a fool of herself.

No, he decided. She was not being prudent. She probably _was _angry with him. He had stolen her Archdemon. She had not looked angry, but perhaps she was tired and sad instead.

Well, she would just have to get over it.

The wine arrived and the seneschal departed. Loghain gathered it all together, and went next door and knocked. He could hear the girl, pacing back and forth. That was unlike her.

The footsteps came closer. The door cracked open, very narrowly, and the girl peered out at him, scowling. "What do you want?"

"You need to get your armor off and get some sleep, Maude. And so do I."

She let him in, but her eyes were red-rimmed and unfriendly. She had not even made an attempt to undress, he noticed. Ranger was asleep on a mass of cushions by the fire. He whimpered faintly and his eyes blinked briefly in the dim light. He took note of Loghain and wagged his stumpy tail once, twice, and was asleep once more. Thunder rolled again, closer now, and lightning flashed briefly, refracted into rainbows by the water droplets running down the windows. The rain came down harder, beating against the stout stone walls.

"You're really upset with me, it seems."

"Yes, I'm really upset with you, but that's not what I've been thinking about. Is that more of that spiced wine? I'd like some."

He poured for both of them. She took a long swallow. "I'm hoping Fergus doesn't think too carefully about the events of the past year and really, really hate me." Her voice broke as a torrent of words burst from her.

"I've been such a fool! I should never have left the Wilds without lookiing for Fergus. All I've done for the past year is take care other peoples' problems! 'Find my sword!' 'Find my mother's grimoire!' 'Find my bardmaster who's trying to kill me!' 'Find my wife in the most incredibly dangerous part of the Deep Roads!' 'Find my former apprentice who ran away because I was a bitch!' 'Find my estranged guardian and then fight the undead, and then go to the end of the earth and fight a dragon to find a cure for the ungrateful bastard!'"

She downed the rest of the wine in a gulp and ran her hand through her hair. "I can't _believe_ I listened to Alistair when he said we mustn't waste time looking for Fergus! My only excuse is that I'd only known him less than a week, during which I had this brief period of dementia when I regarded him as Senior Warden. Pretty soon I noticed that he always hid behind me when we had to talk to people and wanted me to make all decisions, major and minor.. No wonder it was such a terrible mistake!" Dramatically, she lifted a hand and proclaimed, "Hear me, Loghain! I will never listen to Alistair's stupid opinions on anything for the rest of my life. This I swear." She leaned against the wall, looking miserable.

He regarded her gravely. "Alistair didn't want to help look for your brother?"

"He didn't and Morrigan didn't. Said it was hopeless. Morrigan I can understand, since she doesn't care much for other people, and nothing at all for people she's never met. But considering how much time I spent on Alistair's nearest and dearest, well, I think Alistair was very callous and self-absorbed to dismiss me like that. Fergus spent over a year wounded, a captive of the Chasind, and he could have been with me, and everything would have been better!"

"I suppose it's possible, but I can tell you this, if it comforts you: I cannot believe that your brother is going to be angry because his _little sister _didn't somehow rescue him. I doubt the thought will ever enter his mind."

"Really?" She looked like she really, really wanted to believe him.

"Really. Now off with the armor. We have to fight again tomorrow, despite having saved the world today. That's just the way it always is."

She began unfastening his buckles willing enough, frowning a little. "Why are you here? Other than getting your armor off, I mean? I thought you were done with me."

He raised his brows. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You _said_ it was all over. That _we_ were all over."

"I thought I was going to be _dead _by now, so it would have been, in fact, 'all over.' Thanks to Avernus, however, it seems I will live to fight another day. Tomorrow in fact."

She pulled off his left pauldron. "It was really the Ashes," she muttered. "So...does that mean we're _not._..all over?"

He had a future. His future had possibilities. It rather staggered him for a moment. "That's entirely up to you," he said, hoping she would not throw him out. "At the moment, I just want to get out of my armor and wash."

"That sounds nice." She put her fingers on his shoulders and looked at him before leaning in for a gentle kiss. "I don't want it to be over. I told you. I'd like to make love with you all the time. Could we do that really soon, do you think?"

"You're not too angry with me?"

"One thing has nothing to do with the other. I can be angry with you later."

They both paused, and drew breath, and then kissed hungrily, teeth catching against lip, tongues exploring. He clutched her against him, hands stroking down, squeezing luxuriously, then pulling her even closer. She kissed him again, with an amorous little moan that undid him. Clumsy with haste, they tugged at each other, needing to escape their metal shells, to toss aside gambesons and tunics and small clothes, to press skin to warm skin. She was very curious about his body once again, but he caught her by her strong upper arm, and hustled her into the stone bath basin.

"Wash first. It'll do us both good."

The fire was not far away. It warmed the room, chasing away the damp of the rainstorm out in the darkness. There was soap and water and blessed time enough to use them. It was a pleasant pastime, to teach her how to wash him properly... all over.

"Yes, very nice. Push that back a little_...gently_...yes...yes, I think I'm fairly clean there..."

And she liked being washed, too, letting him soap her breasts and back, her long legs and arms; letting him taste and nuzzle her while probing her with questing, gentle fingers. She was not averse to letting him order her about a bit, which was very exciting indeed. He began to wonder if they were going to make it to the bed, but he decided he was entirely too old to enjoy taking a woman in the inhospitable current environs. Some quick toweling, some breathless kisses, and then she was off and racing him to the bed. It could not possibly matter who got there first, since they were both going to win.

His needs were simple, but achieving them could be delightfully complex. With a bit of persuasion and little manhandling, her sleek, strong legs were on his shoulders and he was deep within her, his intent gaze fixed on her young face, heavy lidded, slack with passion. When she had clawed at him more than enough, he caught her wrists in his hands and pinned them beside her head, his hips moving faster while she kicked helplessly.

"Mine," he growled.

"Only because I let you," she gasped out.

She was an adventurous girl, after all, and while she cried with frustration at his sudden withdrawal, she did not object when he flipped her over, and took her hard and quick, like an animal. With release came tenderness, and his fingers and mouth strayed over her until she, too, was lax and satisfied. They slept a little, and woke again, and this time he let her take the lead, surrendering his body to her as she had to him. She straddled him in a single smooth motion, her warm center pressed exasperating close, but not yet _there. _

The firelight licked at her breasts and arms. Leaning over him, her dark eyes shone like stars reflected in deep water. Her long fingers stroked the hair of his chest, and pinched a nipple. She licked at him delicately, with the just the tip of her tongue. He ground his teeth, wanting desperately to_ get on with it. _She, however, was resolved on torture.

"You took my Archdemon away. That was a wickedly cruel thing to do," she told him, perfectly serious.

"I did it to save your life. What part of "A Grey Warden must die" did you not understand?"

Those dark eyes could be unnerving, fixed on him as they were, while she moved ever so teasingly. "I was never in any real danger of death," she insisted. "I knew the Ashes would work. Don't look like that. Think about it rationally: if the Archdemon and Andraste had a fight, who would win?"

"The Archdemon," he answered instantly.

She glared at him and thumped him on the chest, hard. He winced.

"No, no, _no! __Andraste _would win! And why, you ask? Because Andraste can call on the _Maker!l"_ She shook her head, tickling his face with her silky hair. "Really, Loghain! You act as if you've never received proper religious instruction!"

"Instruction. I believe I have some instruction for you." He tried moving just a bit more, to see if...hmm...That was nice, anyway. "Besides, it wasn't the Ashes that saved me. It was Avernus' spell."

"It was not! It was the Ashes. Avernus died because the Archdemon_ fell_ on him."

"What will you do if I agree with you?" he asked, ready to bargain.

"_Do_ you agree with me?"

"Yes...oh, _yes."_

That Grey Warden stamina was really something. After they slammed the headboard against the wall long enough, they settled down into a restful, blissful state once more.

Loghain murmured, "I was lying. It was Avernus."

"Cheater," she accused him sleepily. "You'll pay for that."

"I look forward to it."

"And it was the Ashes."

"Avernus..."

* * *

The estate of the Arl of Denerim was full of darkspawn. It was no more than they expected, but annoying nonetheless. The scouts went out with the dawn, and were back shortly afterward, confirming that the darkspawn had collected there, drawing together in the wake of their defeat.

Maude knew entirely too much about the place, but of course she had been through it end to end before, and pretty thoroughly slaughtered everything in her path that time. No wonder she looked a trifle bored. She knew all the exits-especially the servants' door near the gardens, which was how she had sneaked in the last time she was here.

They had based their plan on that. Cauthrien and her men would be stationed at the front gate, to keep the darkspawn sealed in. The Dalish were behind them, ready with their bows to pick off any darkspawn archers that might appear in the windows or up on the battlements. They could also send a volley or two if a mob of darkspawn tried to escape. Keeper Lanaya's magic would be of great service, too, and Loghain advised Cauthrien to make the most of it.

The dwarves followed the Wardens and their party, and would make keep the darkspawn bottled in from that side.

Fergus Cousland insisted on going with his sister. Loghain did not object. The fellow must know how to handle himself, since he had made it all the way from the Wilds to Denerim alone. It was understandable that brother and sister could hardly stop talking, even when they were killing monsters. She was much more cheerful than the day before. Loghain felt a certain pride that he was not a total failure in the role of comforter.

"I stopped at Highever House, and it's rather a mess," Fergus told Maude. "Howe's folk looted it, of course, but they didn't find everything. It was a place to sleep, at least. We'll have to see if it's still standing after all this..."

"Oh!" Maude replied, excited, "You mean they didn't find the you-know-what in the study? What about the one in Father and Mother's bedchamber?"

Fergus was astonished. "They had one in their bedchamber, too?"

"Yes!" Maude said smugly. "I found it when I was twelve!"

Loghain wondered if he dared ask of what they were speaking, and hoped it involved a secret hiding niche, though knowing the Couslands, anything was possible.

Their own party was a strong one, and could readily absorb another swordsman. Riordan, too, was well enough, he insisted, to go with them, and he could sense darkspawn clearly enough to tell what kind they were and their position in a room, even through a closed door. Loghain bitterly regretted the loss of the powerful magic of Avernus, but Morrigan was there, beside Maude, and she was a force to be reckoned with.

A storm of magic in the front courtyard cleared the milling darkspawn out of the way. To the back of the building, another storm left darkspawn dead strewn about the garden like frostbitten turnips. It did not take long to strip away the hindrances that kept them from the stone skin of the estate.

So they moved quickly from room to room, clearing out the brutes. The luxurious residence of the Arl was reeking with darkspawn filth. Howe would not have approved.

"This place was evil before, but now it's like the Deep Roads, only with expensive carpets," Maude remarked. "It's nice that they haven't been here long enough to set much in the way of traps."

The only surviving ogre was in the entry hall, and he was dealt with before they even stepped through the doorway. Maude kept up a soft, running commentary to her brother about the last time she had been there.

"...and this is where Cauthrien arrested me for killing Howe. It was her duty, I suppose. I had to surrender and go quietly because the Queen was with us and could have been hurt if I'd made trouble. I escaped as soon as they locked me in Fort Drakon, so it wasn't so bad..."

The dungeons took a little longer. They had left a guard at the entrances to the dungeons, and descended into them with a feeling of forboding. Riordan warned them of a pair of powerful emissaries somewhere ahead. The Couslands exchanged looks of disgust as they passed through the late Rendon Howe's bedchamber.

"He slept next to the door to the dungeons?" Fergus wondered.

Oghren chuckled darkly, "Reckon he liked to nip down to the dungeons for a spot of torture before bedtime!"

Maude gave her a brother a look, which indicated that she did not disagree. Ranger whined a little, but followed bravely. The stench was enough to make Loghain quail a little, and he guessed it must be far worse for the dog.

He wondered if anyone had come down here to clear out the bodies after Howe's death. He supposed so. It was all too apparent that it would all have to be done again. The girl had a good memory for the plan of the place, which saved them from a number of possible ambushes.

One room interested her in particular. She whispered to Fergus, "...and here is where I got him! He was right here-_there, _I mean-and he had a pair of mages and a lot of thugs with him, but I showed _him!"_

"I only wish I'd been with you," her brother said fiercely.

Maude, Loghain saw, did not seem to share that sentiment, but the brief look of dismay was mastered, and she went on talking. "So he put up a fight-I'd never call him a personal coward-and when he lay dying, he gasped out, _'I deserved more!' _Can you imagine? I told him I thought so too, but I didn't have time to waste on him!"

"Ah, good times," chuckled Oghren.

"Very...hmm...how to describe it?" murmured Zevran. "Very entertaining. _Very _colorful."

"Don't forget to go through there," Maude directed, pointing at a distant door. "That where he locked up people he didn't want _anybody_ to know he had. It would be just the place for darkspawn to hide."

"Yes," whispered Fergus, "Cauthrien told me they found the remains of Bann Vaughan, the old Arl's son. Howe must have kept him down here for months before he killed him."

Maude caught Loghain's eye and gave him a very naughty wink. He would have to ask her what that was all about. She had admitted to killing the man. What he could not guess was _why._ Vaughan would have been a useful ally for her at the Landsmeet.

Riordan was frowning in concentration. As they grew close to the door, he held up two fingers and pointed to the area that would be just behind the door. Then he held up four fingers, and pointed out where those should be.

Zevran flicked a door open, jumped away, and green mist bloomed from inside. Instantly, Morrigan was cursing the emissaries with ice, while Maude rushed in, blades flashing. Ranger growled, and mauled at a hurlock knocked down by Loghain's shield. One of the genlock archers, knock off balance by Riordan, fell into the backswing of Fergus' sword, and was carried along as he slashed at a hurlock. The two darkspawn smashed into each other, staggered, and were dispatched by Fergus in a single blow.

"Show-off!" shouted Maude. "He's always been like that," she told Loghain.

With one thing and another, the mansion was cleared. When all was over, Maude rapped out the prearranged signal at the entry hall, and the great doors were swung open to the cheers of the waiting troops. A garrison was arranged to guard the entrances, and the victors returned to the Palace for a meal.

More warriors of all races were trickling, then pouring into the Palace Quarter. Word came that the City was clear on the north side of the River, and that Prince Alistair had fought very bravely at the Gate. The couriers were told their own news and then headed back to inform the Queen. Loghain grimaced. "Prince" Alistair. That was what people were calling Chantry Boy now. Once he married Anora it would be King Alistair. It was not a prospect Loghain relished.

"So," Maude said, "Next we go east. I told you about that big underground complex where the blood mages were hiding. It's just the sort of place that the darkspawn would favor."

The stink there was, almost inconceivably, even worse than that at the Arl's estate. There were darkspawn there, but they were cleared out in less than an hour. Loghain studied the place, rather unnerved at such an extensive secret hideout under the streets of Denerim. Their own mages would be needed to cleanse the labyrinth of rooms and tunnels, in addition to a great deal of soap and water.

Loghain considered the matter. "I wonder if there is any practical use for this place..."

"...that doesn't involve ritual blood-letting?" Maude shook her head. "I know there's always a housing shortage in Denerim, but it smells really _bad."_

Another messenger arrived. The streets had been made safe enough for the Queen and Prince Alistair to cross the Dock Bridge. They were on their way to the Palace at that very moment.

"Well, time to pay our respects," laughed Fergus. "Shall we?"

* * *

They even had time to wash their faces before the royal party arrived. LIke actors in a pageant of ancient heroes, they arranged themselves at the top of the steps: The Wardens and their companions; Ranger, wagging his tail furiously; a band of the Legion of the Dead with Kardol among them, limping a little; Lanaya and her Dalish; Cauthrien and Fergus Cousland and Sergeant Kylon and the remnants of the guardsmen they had rallied.

Anora stepped lightly from her heavy coach, assisted by Alistair. She was still in her dragonbone mail, and was every inch the warrior queen. Alistair looked messy enough to have been fighting, which Loghain rather approved of, though he would never confess such a thing. Alistair looked, in fact, quite a bit like Maric would have, if Maric had ever had a mad fancy to cut his hair short.

Even the red-faced, sulky look reminded him of Maric on a bad day. Anora, on the other hand, was radiant. She met his eyes, even at this distance, and he could see she glowed with pride. He was extremely happy he had killed the Archdemon, anyway, but even more happy to know that the knowledge had obviously come to her and pleased her. On the other hand, he could understand Chantry Boy's disgruntlement.

Loghain smiled quietly, drawing himself up to his full height. _Chantry Boy. _

More troops followed, filling the great stone courtyard. There was Eamon, and oh, my, my, wasn't that smile a bit _forced?_ Teagan just looked tired. Loghain wasn't feeling tired. Not a bit. Not even after slaying an Archdemon and saving the country. Not even after a night spent wrestling naked with crazy, lovely Maude Cousland. But then, he was a Grey Warden, with extra-special secret powers. He was feeling _really_ well, in fact.

Anora was coming up the steps, her hands out.

"Father."

The cheers were beginning, louder than ever. They were cheering for the Queen, for the Wardens, for Prince Alistair, for the good Teyrn of Highever. And then they were cheering for him.

_"Loghain! Loghain! Loghain! Loghain!"_

The roar shook the stones of Denerim. The people in the Landsmeet Chamber had come out to join the shouting and laughing, the fierce embraces and joyous tears.

_"Loghain! Loghain! Loghain! Loghain!"_

People were kneeling for the Queen, but not three figures at the top of the steps.

"We shouldn't kneel," Maude whispered fiercely. "We're _Wardens!"_

But they did, last of all, and together, for that was the final touch to make the pageant perfect._  
_

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* * *

**

_Note: Thank you to all my readers and reviewers: Persephone Chiara, Shakespira, Piceron, wisecracknmama, mieuwings, Enaid Aderyn, Sarah1281, Chatoyant Tiger, icey cold, Lehni, Amhran Comhrac, McNeko, DarkRoseTiger, Nithu, Aoi24, Eva Galan, Shikyo-sama, fussycat, Hekateras, Gene Dark, Guile, JackOfBladesX, ChaosEagle22, Windchime68, reyavie, mille libri, mutive, gaj620, riverdaleswhiteflash, and Hayvee Mettle._

_Maude's argument about the Ashes of Andraste is shamelessly stolen from Awakenings. The argument between the two drunks in the Crown & Lion Tavern never fails to make me smile._

_Next up: Bridezilla vs. the Wardens_


	12. Join Us in the Shadows

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 12: Join Us in the Shadows Where We Steal the Silver  
**

Being the Hero Who Slew the Archdemon and Saved Everything and Everyone _just_ managed to cancel out the appalling things Loghain had done in the past year. And yet, cancel them out it had. Well, perhaps not with the nobility, but they had always hated him anyway. Now they were once again forced to shut up about it.

People were strange creatures. Now they were saying that they had always known that Teyrn Loghain would come through for them. What had gone wrong was conveniently being blamed on Rendon Howe—whom _everyone knew_ had employed blood mages to twist peoples' minds.

_Yes—all that bother—that was all that Arl Howe. The Young Warden did for him, and good riddance!_

_And Teyrn Loghain slew the Archdemon! No surprise there… Makes sense… I reckon only a Hero like Teyrn Loghain could have done it... I heard he let that girl talk him into becoming a Grey Warden on purpose just so he could save us all from the Blight_…_Hand in glove with the Young Warden, he is…Those two'll get rid of the rest of the darkspawn, mark my words!_

_And they found that son of Maric's to marry the Queen…Well, she had to marry somebody…They say he's a handsome chap, and the spit and image of King Maric himself!…If it's all right with Teyrn Loghain and the Young Warden, I say Maker __bless!..._

Loghain heard the gossip, of course, because it was everywhere. He suspected that Anora's agents were hard at work.

He heard it and Maude heard it, and generally together. Sometimes, passing through the ravaged streets, people picking through the rubble would voice their praise and opinions and ridiculous rumors at the top of their voices, and sometimes the girl would roll her eyes, and throw him a mocking smile. Sometimes she would glare. That nearly always made Loghain wish he were the sort of man who laughed aloud in public.

Today, like every day, there was much to do. The city was being swept for lurking darkspawn: street by street, house by house, cellar by cellar. They had uncovered a nest of the brutes in Bann Fandarel's city estate only yesterday. Loghain noticed that Maude seemed to know her way around the place all too well. He remembered Fandarel fuming about his estate being ransacked by a gang of incredibly bold thieves...

Securing the Arl of Denerim's estate had been an excellent move. The Dalish and dwarven forces that were active in the city had a decent roof over their heads. The rest were encamped outside the city, skirmishing with the last of the darkspawn. It appeared that a large force of the creatures had fled north, up the Pilgrim's Path, and had promptly vanished. Gone to ground, it seemed. If the foul beasts found their way back to the Deep Roads, then Good Riddance.

They had divided forces today, to work more quickly. Riordan would go to the South Docks and search there, accompanied, of course, by Leliana. With them would be Wynne, Oghren, Zevran and Sten.

The Couslands had been unselfish about their own property up to now, but today Loghain and Morrigan would go with Maude and Fergus to Highever House and see if anything untoward lurked there. They had heard that the building still stood largely undamaged, save for the empty, partially burned stables. It was not, however, certain that Fergus Cousland would move out of the Palace any time soon. Anora liked having him there, and last night had told her father in the strongest terms how much she valued him.

_"He stayed, when the rest of nobles ran like cowards. He saved a thousand lives! He's worth all the rest of the Landsmeet put together, in my opinion. I only wish-" she broke off, and eyed her father with reproach and regret._

_Loghain understood all too well. "I'm sure that if Maude had known her brother was alive, her arrangement with you would have been very different. We must all accept things as they are. At least Chantry Boy can fight."_

_"Don't call him that!" Anora raged. "I'll forget myself and call him that someday! Yes, he can fight. Whether or not he can do anything else remains to be seen." _

That fellow Kylon that Maude thought so well of turned out to be the most senior surviving member of the City Guard, and Anora had appointed him Captain. Their search parties crossed paths on occasion, for the newly-made Captain Kylon did not seem disposed to hide behind a desk, despite his promotion.

Where was Maude now? She had wandered off somewhere, and Loghain looked about in exasperation. Everyone else was ready, and here was Fergus Cousland, quickly descending the stairs with a friendly wave.

Most fortunate that the new Teyrn Cousland was not angry with Loghain. He had not been present to see the results of Loghain's disastrous alliance with Rendon Howe, and so did not include Loghain in his furious hatred of Howe and his treachery. And with everyone blaming everything on Howe, Fergus Cousland was not aware of how complicit Loghain had been in all those misdeeds. Loghain would be perfectly happy to leave it at that.

Fergus _had_ been astounded to hear that Teyrn Loghain had become a Grey warden. He was, naturally, even more astounded to find that his sister was one and not happy about it at all. Loghain did not find that very surprising. Fergus had taken Loghain aside yesterday to vent his opinion of Duncan. Loghain rather enjoyed bonding with the young man over the subject.

"Where's your sister?"

"Maude's up talking to the Queen in her sitting room," Fergus told him. "Some sort of thing she didn't feel she could put off. Oh-and Her Majesty wanted a word with you, too. The rest of us might as well have a second breakfast!"

Loghain frowned, and went immediately to see what those two young women were up to now. Probably no good, if his own experience was any criterion. He strode past the worshiping guards and paused on the threshold, amused and softened in spite of himself at the sight of the two lovely heads, one brown and the other golden, bent over their plotting and some scattered parchments.

"-so the oldest boy is ten or so. As soon as Fergus is settled back in Highever, I daresay he would be glad to foster the lad. Once Fergus sets the precedent, of course, the rest of the nobles will follow suit. It will give the children a decent start in life, and put paid to the worst of the gossip from the first.''

"Five children!" Anora groaned. "When she cannot even support one! Sometimes I truly wonder about the common folk. Is there any hope of making her presentable?"

"I think not-or not for some time. Probably the best thing is to get her out of Denerim, so she can't blab about it all. I warned her about talking while the city's so unsettled-mentioned the danger of someone kidnapping the King's niece or nephew, but that won't hold." Maude shrugged, with an odd little smile. "Ever since I found Fergus, I've been thinking about her. Someday she'll understand that there's nothing like having a brother."

Anora was considering the matter, head cocked to one side. "I shall send someone to see if Prickleweed Manor is habitable. It's small, but only twelve miles from Denerim. Surely a steward and a few maids could manage..."

"And a tutor for the children, I think. A Chantry sister or brother would do."

"Do you suppose," Anora began, faintly horrified. "I mean...they _can_ read, can't they? The older ones at least?"

"It's entirely possible that they cannot," Maude told her. "I don't know that _she _can read."

"The illiterate 'Lady Goldanna Pommy!' One could laugh, were it not so pitiful." Anora looked up and saw Loghain. "Father! We were just discussing what in the world to do with Alistair's sister."

He studied the two young women quizzically. "And Alistair is to have no say in this?"

"I'll tell him about it later," Anora declared.

Maude agreed. "That's much the best thing. He didn't get the warm family reunion he was hoping for, and he pretty much lost interest even in warning her about the darkspawn. I was angry at the time myself, but I realize now that we might have seemed...perhaps a little _condescending _when we met. Not that we were, but she might have perceived us that way. She's still his sister, and she's had a rotten life."

"Worse than being raised in a stable?" Loghain asked, sitting down by the window. Ranger came over, nosing for attention. Loghain set about giving his ears a satisfactory rub.

Anora seemed surprised, and looked at Maude for confirmation. "In a _stable?"_

"Oh, yes," Maude said, "I don't mind telling you. It's something to consider when Arl Eamon is acting all _concerned. _Alistair was raised in the stables at Redcliffe and slept on straw. Arlessa Isolde disliked the gossip that made Alistair our to be the Arl's son, so Alistair lost his position as unpaid stable boy when he was ten and was fobbed off on the Chantry. At that, he learned to read and had a roof of sorts over his head. The sister couldn't have been more than ten herself when Alistair was born. She knew her mother was near her time, went up to the Castle, and was told her mother and the child were both dead. She was given a piece of silver and ordered to take herself off. As she was so young, I have not the least hesitation in guessing that she's had an _extremely _rotten life. We're fortunate that the future King's sister is a respectable laundress, and not earning her bread at the Pearl!"

"What I have decided, Father," Anora said, after a moment to digest all this, "is that Alistair's sister shall be styled a lady, and be given a pension and the use of a house outside of Denerim. The children will get a decent education, and be fostered out when they are old enough. Everyone knows Alistair is a bastard, anyway, and it will be better for his honor and reputation than doing nothing for his relatives."

"It's generous," Loghain remarked, "but I'm sure it will be a popular move. Surely you didn't want my advice, when you have settled it so sensibly?"

"There is another matter: one than concerns the Wardens," Anora said. "Alistair has taken it into his head that it would be a good idea to give your order the Arling of Amaranthine!"

* * *

"_Obviously_ I agree that it's a_ terrible_ idea, Loghain," Maude whispered, making a face. "The Arling of Amaranthine is a vassalage of Highever. The Crown can't simply help itself to Highever property for the sake of the Wardens. I'll have to tell Fergus, as soon as I can get him alone. He'll probably find it very insulting."

No darkspawn, so far. No live ones, anyway. They were moving into the courtyard of HIghever House. Maude would have enjoyed picking the lock of the heavy iron gate, but Fergus had brought an immense ring of keys in order to thwart her.

"Where did you get those keys?" Maude demanded.

"I got them from the Grand Cleric at the Chantry, when I first arrived. We've always kept a set of keys there. The Grand Cleric was good friends with Mother, and recognized me right away."

"No one ever told me that!"

"You weren't old enough."

Morrigan laughed at her. "Would you have had us stay there when we visited?"

"No-no, of course not. We would have been attacked and the house would have been damaged. Anyway, we don't need keys. I can pick all the locks, so there!"

When they reached the outer gate, both lockpicking and keys proved useless, for the gate had been ripped off its hinges, probably by an ogre. No dead bodies were in sight.

Highever House was not as big as Arl Eamon's Denerim estate, but it was considerably taller: one of the taller buildings in Denerim, in fact. In addition to extensive cellars below ground level, the five stories rose high above the other structures in the vicinity.

"'Tis a fine house indeed," said Morrigan, visibly impressed.

"At the very top is a rooftop garden," Maude told her, smiling dreamily. "It's lovely-or it was. I daresay it's a frightful mess now. I haven't been here in years and years."

"Gardens can be replanted," Fergus shrugged. "The building looks sound. Maybe some of those clever dwarves can repair the gate and the stables. The place had placards all over it proclaiming it the property of 'Teyrn Rendon Howe' when I arrived. I tore them down and burned them." He muttered, just audibly. "Pissed on them, too."

To their surprise, the tall arched front door was intact. The darkspawn appeared to have been too busy elsewhere to invade the house. Most of the small, high windows at ground level were broken, but all the rest above were whole but one on the east side. Fergus kicked the door open gingerly, and inside they found only a large family of frightened squatters, camping out in the kitchen and servants' quarters. After the initial, terrified recognition, the sobs and screams died down (except for the howling baby). Fergus permitted them to stay and watch the place for him, even giving them a bit of money.

The upper floors were locked, but it was unhappily evident that Howe's men had been here, cleared out anything of value with the efficiency of a whore fleecing a customer, and locked it all back up again.

"I didn't see any of our things at the Denerim estate," Maude told Fergus. "Maybe he packed up the lot and sent it off to Vigil's Keep."

"Maybe he packed up the lot and sent it to Kirkwall to be sold," Fergus said sourly. Maude clearly did not enjoy the idea either.

The hiding place in the bookless study was clever. Both Couslands raced to it, and Fergus held his stuggling sister at arm's length, while he pressed a spot in the middle of one of the built-in bookcases lining the walls. It swung away, revealing a dark and dusty closet. Fergus gestured gallantly for Maude to precede him.

"Spoilsport," she muttered. He grinned at her.

Inside were shelves holding a number of small treasures and chests, a rack for weapons, and a big chest on the floor. One of the smaller chests had been battered open.

"Did you do that?" Maude asked her brother indignantly. "I could have opened it for you without _destroying_ it. Oh, it's full of gold! How sensible of Father!"

"He showed all this to me once, so I knew where to find a bit of coin, once I got back to Denerim," Fergus confirmed. "I took Uncle Bangsley's old sword from here, too. It was silverite, and so hadn't rusted in storage. It was no end better than the one I was carrying! I didn't want to smash everything though, so I left the rest for later."

"Well," his sister said loftily, "_I _don't have to go about smashing things. Behold!" In a moment the big chest was open. Ranger whined and pressed forward, wanting to see, too. Loghain and Morrigan stood back, and exchanged amused, resigned looks.

"Oh! The silver!" Maude exclaimed. "How sensible to lock it all away. I love those cups. What's that you've got?" she asked, seeing her brother with a box of parchment.

"Property deeds to the three manors the family owns here in the Arling of Denerim. Some of these should be bringing it rent. I've got to find Howe's account books."

"Lanaya's staying in his old rooms. She won't mind if I search them."

"Lanaya? Oh, the Dalish chieftainess. Lovely woman."

"You own other property in Denerim?" asked Morrigan, rather waspishly. "Is not a mansion in the city and the whole teyrnir of Highever enough?"

"Of course!" Fergus answered absently, paging through the documents. "But one picks up odds and ends, here and there... Private property, not part of the teyrnir. We own land in West Hill and Amaranthine, too, and all through the Bannorn. Father won these particular manors off old Arl Urien in a game of cards. Don't own anything any further south, though." He looked up and gave them a lop-sided smile. "We have holdings in the Free Marches, too: in Ostwick and Kirkwall and Markham. Maker only knows what's been happening to them!"

Maude frowned at the treasures in the big chest, and ran her fingertips over an elaborate candlestick. "I didn't know we actually owned property there."

Fergus grinned again, and tapped her on the head with his documents. "That's because you were off playing with Ranger when you should have been _listening!"_

Ranger barked indignantly.

"We really should be moving on," Loghain suggested. He hoped Fergus' teasing would not set Maude off into one of her fits of murderous rage. He supposed it was unlikely, since she had grown up with Fergus and had not yet killed him.

"Sorry!" Fergus apologized, replacing the documents. "Maude, put that back! It will all be safe here. I'll take a bit more of the gold, since Maker knows I've been short of it." Maude looked sad and wistful, and Fergus eyed his sister with concern. "Here, you take a purse too. There's a hundred sovereigns in each. That should see you straight for a bit, pup."

Mollified, Maude grabbed up the purse, giving Fergus an innocently grateful smile. "You're the best brother ever, Fergus!"

Instantly alert, Loghain narrowed his eyes. Maude winked at him, and followed her brother as they went further up through the mansion.

The orders must have been to loot the house, but not to damage the house itself. It was too valuable a piece of real estate. Howe might have intended it for one of his children. Fergus glanced briefly in at what must have been his own room, and found it nearly empty, but for the bare bedstead and a open, looted wardrobe.

He turned away, looking depressed, and asked Maude, "So where is this hiding place in Father and Mother's room?" He made a great show of unlocking the door properly. Impatient, Maude pushed her way past him.

"There," she said briefly, going to a massive, looming wardrobe of carved black oak, built into an alcove. She opened it and stepped in. At her quick, sure touch, a panel in the back slid aside. "I brought a candle with me, if you would be so good, Morrigan."

The witch huffed, but magicked the candle alight. This space was even larger than the one in the study, and held three massive iron chests, an armor stand, and another rack of weapons. Maude set the candle into a wall bracket, and set about getting into the chests.

"These are some of Mother's things," she announced. "It smells like her-rose and blood lotus." She sniffed at a linen sachet and smiled. "I know we haven't time to go through all this today, but I'm glad it's here." She tucked the sachet inside her armor. and stood up.

"That's the Cousland ceremonial armor," Fergus said. "Father wore that to the Landsmeet when he wanted to make a certain kind of point."

"I remember," said Loghain. It was an old and very elaborate set of silverite plate, but handsome for all that. Bryce wore it the day he declined to pursue the kingship. Loghain had often wondered why. Perhaps he wished to make clear that he was capable of a kingly appearance and bearing: that he was perfectly capable of_ being_ king, had he wished to break his oaths to Maric and take the throne from his son. Loghain had occasionally imagined what the past six years would have been like, serving King Bryce and Queen Eleanor. Different, certainly. Better? Hard to say.

* * *

Though there were no darkspawn at Highever House, they did uncover a few isolated bands on their return. By the time they were back at the Warden compound, the sun was low in the sky and they were blood-stained and filthy. A servant informed them that they were all invited to join the Queen for dinner. Life in the Palace was slowing returning to normal-or at least, moving toward a new "normal."

"Fergus," Maude said urgently. "Come by my room just before dinner. I need to talk to you, but I need to get cleaned up first."

He frowned, seeing she was serious. He glanced at Loghain, full of questions. Morrigan raised her brows.

"Highever business," the girl whispered to her.

"Before dinner would be early enough," Loghain agreed.

The compound was pulsing with life: full of servants eager to take care of them. Loghain's valet had appeared, along with most of his personal clothing and belongings, now neatly arranged in his new room. A blessed bath was waiting. He thanked the man and was being stripped of the last of his armor when he heard the girl, next door, cry out sharply. He pushed the servant aside and strode out to the hall.

Riordan was there, looking distraught, and Maude's hand was over her mouth. She looked as horrified as Loghain had even seen her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Riordan looked away, muttering, "See for yourself..."

Maude was already running into the room he shared with Leliana. Loghain followed, and looked over the girl's head to the young woman sitting slumped by the fire.

"Leliana?" Maude asked softly.

"I feel so strange," the Orlesian murmured. Looking up at them, there was no mistaking the dark circles under her eyes, the greying skin. Maude ran to her, and kneeling by the chair, caught her friend by the hand.

"Oh, Leliana!"

"We must have a Joining immediately. It is the only hope of saving her." Riordan buried his face in his hands. "This is my fault. I shall never forgive myself!"

"Nonsense!" Maude cried. "Utter nonsense! We've all been practically bathing in darkspawn blood for a year! It's a miracle this never happened before. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine for letting Leliana come with me."

Loghain hated these emotionally charged scenes. He said brusquely, "It seems to me that it's actually the _darkspawn's_ fault. So we're to have a Joining? When?"

"As soon as possible," Maude said, squeezing Leliana's hand. "We could do it now."

"No." Leliana found her voice, and smiled bravely. "No. After dinner. The Queen has sent us a trunk of lovely gowns to choose from. I will have a bath, yes? And find something wonderful to wear. I have not dressed in a gown in over a year. We shall all have a wonderful time, and _then_ I shall join you."

Maude hugged her tightly and kissed her on both cheeks. "I'll have a bath, too, and I hope the Queen sent something that will fit me!"

Loghain listened with half an ear to the goings and comings in the hall outside his room, while he bathed and shaved and dressed in clean linen and black and grey velvet. Maude must have sent a message to Morrigan, for she came down a little later. After the noise of choosing dresses, the two girls talked softly outside his door, whispering about Leliana.

"She is Tainted, is she not? You will attempt to save her by making her a Warden, I presume."

"Have the Grey Wardens no secrets at all?" Maude said, exasperated. "Yes, that's exactly what we'll do. I think she should be fine. It may not be what she planned to do after the Blight, but she seems to like being with Riordan well enough," She added, lightly, "Besides, she'll be the very First Childe of Urthemiel, so to speak, and that's rather distinguished."

A silence. "I see."

Another silence. "Morrigan…Are you _jealous_?"

"You are absurd. Jealous of nightmares, gluttonous appetite, infertility, and early death?"

"You are. You are absolutely jealous. If you want to be a Warden, say so! Then _you_ can be the First Childe of Urthemiel. By the way, you look lovely in that dress."

"Since you insist I must wear one of these ridiculous garments, I may as well make the most of it."

"It was the Queen who insisted, more or less, and we'll be eating at her table, so we have to play by her rules. Anyway, you look gorgeous. I told you how it would be. Isn't this nicer than a hut in the Wilds? I'm going to divide up our money after dinner tonight, and with twenty or so sovereigns you can fix up your room exactly as you like. So what's it to be?"

A pause. "I shall tell you after we dine."

As soon as he heard Morrigan move upstairs, Loghain opened the door. "I suppose you heard all that," Maude remarked.

"I thought that was your intention." He paused to admire her. She looked extraordinarily pretty: bathed, hair washed and arranged, dressed in an old-fashioned gown of green velvet. Of course it was Rowan's. With her height and those swordswoman's shoulders, it was quite impossible that she could wear anything of Anora's.

He added, "I also thought you _wanted_ Morrigan to join the Wardens. Leliana is simply a bonus."

"I did. I do. It's just…" She walked over to the window, and looked at the town, not facing him. "I didn't come to your Joining, remember, or at least, not until I knew you were going to make it."

He granted her a sour laugh. "I think that Riordan believed it would kill me outright."

"I didn't think it would kill you," the girl said loyally. "I thought you were much tougher than that. I was sure you'd pull through...but if you didn't, I didn't want to see it. It was cowardly of me, I know. My own Joining was horrible."

Now this was interesting. Loghain frowned. "Your Joining was horrible? How so? Other than the vile taste, of course."

"Well, surely you heard that I was not the only Warden recruit at Ostagar? The other two didn't make it."

Now that she mentioned it, he did recall something… "What happened to them?"

"Bad things. Daveth was a very fair archer and good with a pair of daggers. He thought he was the Maker's gift to the ladies, but he was essentially all right. He would have been very useful in a fight and very good company over the past year. Then there was Ser Jory. Solid skills with a greatsword. A bit of a fussbudget, and he had left a pregnant wife at home. I don't want to recruit anyone like that ever."

She sighed deeply. "…Anyway, Daveth went first. I could see Duncan tense a little after he drank the blood. Duncan took the the cup from him and watched him closely. I couldn't see Daveth's face, but he fell to his knees, clawing at his throat and choking. It was over pretty quickly. And Duncan said, "I am sorry, Daveth." I think those are ritual words."

She glanced back at him, and he nodded for her to go on. He moved closer, in case she needed serious comforting.

"…And then it was Ser Jory's turn. That went very bad very fast. He started protesting, saying he would never have wanted to join if he'd known—and that he had a wife—and a child on the way. Duncan told him there was no turning back. And then he drew his sword, and Duncan gutted him. Just like a pig. Just like that. And he said, 'I am sorry, Jory.' It sounds unbelievable, I know."

Loghain stared at her, perfectly ready to believe anything of that bastard Duncan, but somewhat astonished all the same.

_And I thought _I _was a hard man..._

Maude gave him a tremulous smile. "…And there I was standing there like an idiot with my mouth open, and I was sorry, too—sorrier than you can imagine. Duncan was telling me that the Joining was not yet complete, and that I was called to submit myself to the Taint for the Greater Good. I thought I was going to cry. I didn't want to die like that, but it was either the darkspawn blood or Duncan's dagger. I thought about my mother and father and Oren, and I thought that I'd be seeing them soon, and that wasn't really so bad. So I drank. And you know what happens next. I'm sorry I didn't come to your Joining at first, but I did as soon as I heard you were going to make it."

He took her by the shoulders, and made her look at him. "Your friends are dauntless adventurers, and tough as old boots. After a year in your company, I suspect that tonight's will not be the first darkspawn blood they have swallowed. Perhaps that will protect them."

"That's true," she considered, giving him a grateful kiss. "That's very true. And it _is _surprising that this didn't happen before. I wonder if anyone else would like to be a Warden? Perhaps I should ask tonight. Maybe Zevran…"

He burst out laughing. "Do you think the assassin would submit himself to the Taint for the Greater Good? I'd give quite a bit of money to see that."

"That's just mean of you. He might survive—yes, he might. He has a strong will and he's very brave—"

Loghain snorted, and did not dignify her remarks with more of a response.

"He has some first-class skills, and he could help with training…"

"Oh, invite your pet assassin if you like, you silly girl. Just don't be too hurt when he refuses."

Someone was knocking next door.

"Maude?" called Fergus. "Are you decent?"

Maude grinned impishly at Loghain. "What do you think? Am I?"

He scowled and jerked his head at the door. He did not need outraged brothers challenging him—especially when this one was such a help to Anora.

Maude made a face, but opened the door, and leaned out, saying, "Over here, Fergus. Loghain and I were talking over something that concerns you."

It was a very neat change of subject, Loghain granted. Maude told him about Alistair's curious notion. Fergus was definitely put out at the idea of handing over Amaranthine to the Wardens.

"Don't think I'm begrudging you a place of your own," he said anxiously to them both. "I'm very grateful to the Wardens, of course. But who knows who the Wardens will send to lead you? Imagine an Orlesian being appointed Commander and ruling over a Fereldan arling!" He considered it further. "And even if a Fereldan were given command, what if there was another Blight somewhere else? Would the Arl just leave his people to shift for himselves? Do we want to give so much power—and one of our most important cities- to someone who has to answer, not to our King, but to strangers in the Anderfels?"

Very pleased with the young man, Loghain said, "You put the case very justly and fairly, I think. I agree that the plan is unsound."

"On the other hand..." Maude murmured to herself. Loghain frowned at her, but she was lost in her own thoughts. Abruptly she asked, "Do you have a reliable map of Ferelden?"

* * *

Maude's little scheme was quite intriguing. It could use a bit of tweaking, but it might serve very well as a compromise. They would put it to Anora as soon as possible. Loghain entered the dining hall with Maude in a much-improved state of mind.

Eamon and Teagan saw him from across the room and were doing their best to put a good face on things. Apparently, Loghain the Savior of the People was beyond attack at the moment. Teagan, indeed, seemed more interested in admiring Maude in her green velvet, which was quite understandable, considering how well she looked.

Leliana came in with Riordan, dressed in blue, with absurd satin slippers on her feet. Loghain remembered her speaking of them as one of Maude's many gifts. The Orlesian girl had found some cosmetics from somewhere, and had covered up the signs of the Taint rather effectively. The rest of the companions trailed after, Morrigan the last of all, in a purple velvet that made her eyes blaze. Zevran was being ridiculously gallant, and would probably be cursed soon. Loghain kept track of that situation, hoping for the worst.

Anora and Chantry Boy entered and took their seats. Anora was her usual cool and collected self. Chantry Boy looked glum, but gave Maude a nod. She returned the nod with a bright and encouraging smile. That seemed to help. Loghain looked away to hide his distaste. The Grand Cleric herself was there to offer a blessing on the meal, and all seemed to be going very well, until Loghain noticed the silver spoons disappearing into Maude's lap. He caught her wrist in a fierce grip, glaring at her. Her face betrayed nothing but the sweetest good temper, not even flinching at the pain.

She whispered, smiling happily, "Let go. That really hurts."

He tightened his grip. "Stop stealing things! It's embarrassing."

"I like these spoons."

"I don't care. You can't take things from the Palace. Put those spoons back on the table. Right now."

She was still smiling. "Kings have the best stuff. Queens, too."

"You're stealing from _Anora,"_ he clarified. "I don't want you to steal from my_ daughter._ Everything in the palace belongs to her. Leave it alone. After the Joining you can rifle the storerooms of the Warden's compound. You can take anything you like from there."

"But that's practically mine!" she complained. "That's no fun at all!"

"Consider it a treasure hunt," he told her, feeling very Stern-Fatherish. "Maybe there are some hidden doors my men didn't find."

"All right," she sighed. The spoons were lovingly laid out in the proper order. "So pretty," murmured Maude, stroking the little mabaris on the handles. "I'm sure the Wardens had silver. What did you do with it?"

"I melted it down to pay for the war."

"Did it have griffins on it?"

"Yes."

"Barbarian. I hate you." She seemed to enjoy her dinner all the same, and after two cups of wine began massaging his thigh with her left hand.

She told him, "I've decided to share out the coin left in our funds. No,_ not_ the money Fergus gave me today. That's family money, not rightful loot. Anyway, everyone will get a little over twenty sovereigns. If people don't want to join the Wardens, it will allow them to travel in comfort or make a start doing something else."

"You weren't going to give me a share, were you? Because that would be absurd."

"You earned a share. I seem to recall you killing the Archdemon."

"I won't accept it."

"But it's easier to divide one hundred eighty by nine! If you won't take a share, I'll just put your twenty in the Grey Warden fund, along with all the extra silver and copper. And the extra sovereign I can't figure out what to do with, too," she added.

Loghain smirked at her. Clearly, arithmetic was not her strong suit. "Nine? You're including Riordan? Or Alistair?"

"Neither!" she said indignantly. She ticked off names on her fingers. "Leliana, Morrigan, Wynne, Zevran, Sten, Oghren, you, Ranger, and me, of course."

"You're giving the dog a share?"

She scowled at him. "Of course I am. Ranger has fought as hard as anybody and he was with me from the first. Riordan hasn't been with us long enough. And no, I'm not giving a share to Alistair. He deserted us. Besides, I'll bet the allowance that Anora gives him is more than that a month."

"I'll bet it isn't." Loghain smirked. She narrowed her eyes, and removed her hand from his thigh. Instead, she turned away to talk to the assassin.

"Zevran! What would you say to becoming a Warden?"

To Loghain's relief, the elf shook his head. "_Bellissima,_ I swore to be your man, but there are some bodily fluids that not even I will touch!"

* * *

_"Join us, Sisters: join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant; join us in the duty that cannot be forsworn. Know that if you perish, your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, and that someday we shall join you."_

_"Morrigan, you are called to submit yourself to the Taint for the Greater Good. From this moment, you are a Grey Warden."_

It was interesting, seeing the Joining from the sidelines. Ranger was next to him, sitting alertly at attention. Riordan said the ritual words. Maude insisted on presenting the cup to her friends, her anxiety well masked, only showing in a little tightness around her eyes.

The witch took the cup and swallowed the blood fearlessly: no one could ever accuse her of lack of courage. Her mouth twisted in disgust, and she even managed to express an opinion.

"How revoltin-" Her eyes rolled white, and she collapsed backward. Loghain caught her, and lowered her gently to the floor.

"She lives," Riordan said.

_"Leliana, come forward. You are called to submit yourself to the Taint for the Greater Good. From this moment, you are a Grey Warden."_

"Blessed Andraste, protect and sustain me." The red-haired bard took the cup and drank. Riordan looked as if he might actually burst into tears. Loghain could not bring himself to sneer too much. He would much prefer that the poor silly creature did not die. It would be distressing for Maude, and Leliana had been rather nice to him, after all...

She too, fell backwards, which was evidently a good thing. Riordan caught her himself, and sighed, "She lives." Without another word he carried her away, back to the bedchamber they shared.

Maude threw herself into Loghain's arms, sobbing with relief. "That's over! Thank the Maker! They're safe!"

"Until the next time we fight the darkspawn, I suppose. Should we leave her there, or put her somewhere less stony? It really does look rather cold and uncomfortable, not that that bastard Riordan cared during _my _Joining, by the way."

Ranger whined and gave Morrigan's face a friendly lick. Loghain smirked. "Give her another," he told the dog. "I'll never tell."

"Very funny. Let's put her on my bed," Maude said. "That's such a nice color on her. Do you suppose Anora would notice if she kept that gown? I wouldn't think so, because that shade of purple is not at all a good color for a blonde. I like that yellow underdress, too. Very striking."

"I'm sure Anora can be persuaded to consider it a Joining gift for a new Warden. First Childe of Urthemiel, indeed! Do Wardens really talk like that?"

"I don't know," Maude admitted, sliding another pillow under Morrigan's dark head. "I made it up. Sounds good though, doesn't it? And Morrigan fell for it."

Ranger stood guard by the bed, whining softly. Maude laughed at the dog. "Oh, she's fine, Ranger! But watch over her if you think she needs it!" She began digging through one of the many chests that the dwarven trader Feddic had transported for her. "There it is!"

It was a sword: a good-looking silverite sword with a slightly curved blade. Maude brought it over to him, grinning. "Go ahead! Take it!" she said, offering it hilt first.

Scowling suspiciously, Loghain drew the blade from its sheath and then hissed in discomfort. It was wrong: all wrong. His mind buzzed, turning back in on itself. His teeth ground, on edge. Angrily, he rammed the blade back home, letting go of the hilt and wiping his hand on his black velvet doublet "What was _that_?"

"That, my heart's darling, is Spellweaver. It's a blade designed for a mage, believe it or not. Don't be hurt: it hates me, too. I think it will be just the thing for Morrigan, once she learns some interesting new magic we picked up in the Brecilian Forest. The ancient elven art of the Arcane Warrior. As I understand it, the sword can actually be used to cast spells, as well as slice darkspawn into tiny morsels. Isn't it marvelous?"

An acid voice from the bed spoke up, groggy with sleep and evil dreams. "I do not need a sword to kill that filthy mongrel if he slobbers on me again..."

**

* * *

**_Thanks so much to all my readers and reviewers, especially Sarah1281, Lehni, ElainMcFG, wisecracknmama, icey cold, Amhran Comhrac, Prisoner 24601, Shakespira, Aoi24, JackOfBladesX, Gene Dark, mutive, mille libri, wayfaringpanda, Piceron, Windchime68, Evalyne, Reyavie, and Enaid Aderyn. Reviews are my favorite treat! More, please._

_I promise that the next chapter will indeed be Bridezilla vs. The Wardens.  
_


	13. Bridezilla vs the Wardens

**The Keening Blade**  
**Chapter 13: Bridezilla vs. The Wardens**

Within a few days of the Battle of Denerim, the Grey Warden compound was becoming fairly livable.

One afternoon, after a patrol outside the walls, Loghain had returned to his room to find that it was indeed _his_ room. All the familiar furnishings from his palace quarters had been moved to his new room in the Justinian Tower: his large and comfortable bed, his desk, his favorite chair, his books, his keepsakes, his weapons, his enameled tin bathtub, his clothes. His new room was shaped differently, and was not as large, but Revere, the seneschal, had done a very good job indeed.

Maude had talked Revere into some other improvements. There was no time and really no need yet to clear the big vaulted hall, but Maude had created a new common room out of the looted study adjoining Riordan and Leliana's bedchamber. The remaining books had been consolidated into two bookshelves. The desk had been pushed up against the wall by the window. Cushions created inviting window seats. A table and chairs for chess were arranged near the elaborate stone fireplace. Maude had made use of her sweet voice and huge, wistful eyes, and somehow a large round table had vanished from a storage room elsewhere in the Palace; and, cleaned and polished, with a dozen chairs arranged around it, had appeared in the Warden's new common room. Loghain scowled when he heard about it, but he did not recognize the table, and he was assured that no one had used it in years, It very comfortably accommodated the Wardens, their allies, and their occasional guests. A long Orlesian huntboard, carved with game birds, was arranged with wine and fruit and bread and other snacks for starving Wardens and their peckish companions. Altogether, it was quite a pleasant place to gather and discuss the day's mission.

The girl herself seemed happy to have a new interest in addition to her usual one of killing darkspawn in various inventive ways.

"I haven't had a room of my own in nearly two years, Loghain!" She cozily spooned up behind him one morning, one hand tickling his side. "I have now slept in a bed for six consecutive nights. This is unbelievable luxury."

Loghain personally thought that unbelievable luxury was being in a beautiful girl's bed for six consecutive nights, but he would not give her the satisfaction of hearing him say it, and only grunted. His dreams of darkspawn had abated somewhat too: possibly to his acclimatization to them; possibly due to the death of the Archdemon. The cause hardly mattered: sound sleep did.

_Blast! _There was noise downstairs in the kitchens. The servants were awake and at work. He slid away from the girl's silken warmth and got up to gather his clothes. She sat up to pout.

"You don't have to run away! They know not to come in our rooms without knocking. Wasn't it funny what that one maid said when she walked in on Riordan and Leliana?"

He shrugged into his shirt, shuddering at the memory. "We need to be up, anyway. Anora said she has time to talk to us before we head out this morning. The sooner we put paid to this Amaranthine idea, the better."

"It would probably be best to have it all resolved before the Orlesians arrive, I suppose," she agreed. "And they'll probably be here any day now, since word that the Blight is over should have reached the border."

The covers were thrown off, and she was on him, kissing him goodbye, sleek and naked and sweetly curved and smelling of sex. The early morning sunlight turned her young skin to gold and sparkled in her tangled braid. Reluctantly, Loghain slipped away, shutting the door noiselessly behind him, and slipping into his own room before the damnably helpful servants could catch him wandering the halls half-dressed.

A shuffle of bootleather on stone. There was his valet, bringing him hot water, Maker curse his diligence. In a well-practiced frenzy, Loghain tore off his clothes, threw on a nightrobe, ripped the covers back from his neatly-made bed, and punched the pillow into a likeness of his head having dented it all night.

_The things I do for that girl._

A modest, self-effacing knock.

"Enter."

"Good morning, my lord."

Loghain rolled his eyes. Cashel simply did not acknowledge Loghain's change of status. His long-time valet had a reliable method of dealing with unpleasant facts: he pretended they were not so, and after a time, people no longer tried to correct him.

He granted Cashel his usual grunt of acknowledgement.

"Master Herren has sent the armor, my lord. I shall bring it to you directly. Master Herren left a message, beseeching you to apprise him at once if anything in the least is amiss."

"Hmph."

"Indeed, my lord."

The Grey Wardens of Ferelden had enough in the way of dragon bits to outfit them for decades, at the very least. Master Wade went into an actual paroxysm of ecstasy when shown the carcass- a spectacle that Loghain would prefer never to see ever again in his entire life-and was happily overseeing the seasoning and tanning of the remains. The massive skull had been hauled to the Landsmeet Chamber, where a team of dwarven masons were erecting an elaborate base for its permanent display. Loghain thought their labor could be put to better use repairing one of the Gate Bridges, but that was merely his own opinion. Anora felt celebrating the end of the Blight took priority.

Somehow, Loghain's new armor also ended up as a priority. Both Anora and Maude had agreed that it was important that Loghain appear in his new guise as the heroic Grey Warden slayer of the Archdemon.

After a decent interval to allow him time to wash, shave, and dress, Maude breezed in, in a loose linen shirt with breeches and boots of soft doeskin. She had added a sleeveless doublet of green velvet as a nod to the fact that they would be conferring with the Queen after breakfast. "An informal discussion," Anora had said. Maude certainly looked informal enough.

"Good morning Cashel, Is he in a mood to receive visitors?"

"Good morning, my lady. Very nearly."

"Did I hear you say that the armor had arrived?" She perched herself in a window seat, quite at her ease.

"You did, my lady. A splendid sight it is."

* * *

His new Archdemon armor was _purple._ Loghain glared at his reflection in the long mirror, trying to will it to change, but even after he blinked, it was still _purple._

Granted, it was dark purple: purple almost to black, burnished to a menacing gleam. It was brilliant armor, too, and stronger, lighter, and more comfortable than anything he had ever possessed. Master Wade had worked with astonishing speed and something like genius for it to be ready for the reception celebrating the defeat of the Blight. Loghain had made it clear to the armorer that this was not parade armor, and so put paid to Wade's suggestion of gold chasing-or at least, too much of it. He scowled at the double griffins flourished across his breastplate. Subtle, he supposed, but still too grandiose. He felt like a walking monument. His old Orlesian plate had been bad enough.

And he had a purple _helmet,_ too. Apparently, Maude had had a word with Wade, and persuaded him to copy the silverite helmet in the details, but to custom fit it to Loghain. Loghain jammed it onto his head, scowling. Small children and strong men would run screaming at the sight. People of taste, too.

The rest of his fellow Wardens trickled in to admire him as he tried on the armor. Maude smilingly dismissed the valet, and helped Loghain herself . Morrigan strolled in last, brows raised at Loghain in cool appraisal, a sheaf of parchment in her hands.

Maude tenderly stroked a vambrace. Loghain wished she would be more discreet, but surely there was nothing scandalous about her putting her hand on his forearm. She smiled up at him and said, "Nothing says victory like wearing the actual skin and bones of your enemy!"

Riordan made free to sit in Loghain's favorite chair. Leliana sat on the footstool by her lover's knees, purring as he tugged on her braid. She said, "That is perhaps a little morbid, yes? But it is magnificent armor, Loghain! No one has ever seen anything like it."

Loghain grunted ungraciously.

"Wade's working on your scale now, Riordan," Maude told them excitedly. "Then the dragonwing set for Leliana. After that-"

"I should like something made from that dragonwing myself," Morrigan said haughtily. "It would certainly be an improvement over the wretched garments Flemeth cobbled together for me! I have an idea for something that is neither robes nor quite armor, but rather a hybrid of both..."

"Er, Morrigan?" Maude asked, cocking her head to study the sketches. "You do realize that the concept behind armor is to actually..._cover_...your body, don't you?" She grinned. "Not that I don't admire the silverite swirls around your breasts and all-that's kind of neat. Maybe Wade can do something like that for me..."

Loghain snatched the sketch away from Maude and scowled at Morrigan. "I was not aware that _seducing_ the darkspawn was an option. Try. Again," he growled. Morrigan took the drawings back, and clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Oh, let me see!" cried Leliana coming to admire the designs. "Ooo! I did not know you had such a flair for fashion."

"Never mind, Morrigan," Maude consoled her. "Master Wade can make you another set of armor, specifically designed for strolling past Chantries and torturing Templars!"

Loghain sighed deeply. Yes, the Wardens would be outfitted for decades. In _purple._

"Beg pardon, my lady," Cashel appeared at the door. "Your brother the Teyrn is here to see you."

"Fergus!" cried Maude rushing out to kiss him. "Come and see Loghain in his new armor!"

So they were going to make a salon of it, were they? Loghain grimaced as Fergus strode in grinning, and then paused in admiration.

"Is that-?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Maude burst out. "It's the Archdemon armor! Isn't it glorious?""

"It's _purple,"_ Loghain growled.

Fergus came forward, wonder in his eyes. "That is amazing! Is it heavy?"

"Not at all," Loghain assured him. "Lighter than silverite, actually."

"Master Wade made this, I presume." Fergus was studying the armor with the excitement of a mabari sniffing out a rotting cat. "It must surely be his masterpiece."

"I'm going to have a matching set," Maude bubbled. "And Riordan is going to have gorgeous Archdemon scale, and Ranger will get a wonderful studded collar, and Leliana and Morrigan will have Archdemon wing armor. Like this!" she said, snatching the sketch away and showing her brother, who goggled, and then cast a naughty grin Morrigan's way. She huffed, but preened a little, too.

Loghain sneered, throwing the helmet aside, "I'm sure your brother would agree that Morrigan does not need armor like that!"

"I don't know," Fergus shook his head, still grinning at the sketch. "I think every woman in Ferelden needs armor like that. Except my sister," he added, and then saw Loghain's scowl. "-and maybe the Queen."

"Stay and have breakfast here, Fergus," Maude urged him.

"I suppose I have the time. Breakfast! I've already been to Highever House today, lazybones! I brought a chest of Mother's things for you. She'd want to you to have them."

Maude hugged him. "You're the best brother in the world, Fergus! What did you bring me?"

He cuffed her jaw affectionately. "Why don't you go see?"

She ran out of the room and made happy noises next door for some time. Leliana trotted after her. Morrigan stubbornly remained in Loghain's room while the men talked about the armor. She sat at his desk, reworking her sketches. Loghain looked over her shoulder and snorted. She was now creating something even skimpier.

Oghren staggered past the door on the way to breakfast. He peered in, eyes bloodshot, took one look at Loghain, and uttered a raucous, "Haw!"

Fergus grinned, but was perfectly happy to help Loghain remove the plate, still admiring the craftsmanship.

"The rerebraces aren't too tight, are they? No? That's nice work…"

"Breakfast is ready, sers," a maid informed them.

A quick breakfast, and then everyone went his or her way to prepare for another patrol. Today they would head west, following the rumors of a darkspawn warband hiding in the caves of Dragon's Peak. Maude ran back for another look at the loot her brother had brought her, chatting with him about Highever House. Loghain was just finishing his second helping of porridge when the tone of their conversation ratcheted up a notch, and he caught their words.

"What do you mean you don't believe it?" he heard Maude demand, in that low, fierce voice that promised mayhem. Loghain frowned and crossed the hall to see what was going on.

Maude was standing up to Fergus-in his face, really-looking very indignant. She saw Loghain and waved him over. Fergus seemed to be amused and embarrassed and concerned, all at once.

His men had hauled in one of the big chests they had found at the family mansion: one of the handsome standing ones. It would double as a seat for two or three, and was of rare imported rosewood from the tropics to the North, elegantly carved with flowers and leaves. Loghain briefly admired it before being dragged into a quarrel.

"Fergus," Maude began scornfully, "says he doesn't believe I won our duel. Tell him that I did, Loghain!"

Loghain shrugged. "She cheated," he told Fergus.

"Exactly," Maude declared triumphantly. "I won, fair and square, _by cheating!"_

Fergus caught Loghain's eye, clearly skeptical. "What I heard was that Loghain was convinced that only a Grey Warden could kill the Archdemon, and agreed to join the Wardens for the sake of Ferelden." There was something else there, but it appeared that Fergus did not want to say it to his sister, who was already upset.

"He agreed to join the Wardens because I _won_ the _duel_. Won. The. Duel. Being convinced that only we could save Ferelden came later. Didn't it?" she prompted Loghain.

He shrugged again, and rolled his eyes at Fergus.

"Really?" asked Fergus, puzzled. He said to Loghain, "I heard you joined in order to be able to slay the Archdemon. Rumor has it that only a Warden can do that. Quite a sacrifice, on your part, but that simply makes it all the more impressive."

"You weren't _there,"_ Maude hissed. "You just ask someone who was really _there._ I won, and Loghain had to do whatever I wanted, and I wanted him to be a Warden!"

Fergus gave her a fond, indulgent pat on the shoulder. "And it worked out splendidly, pup! Well done."

Loghain was uneasy at the look of speechless indignation on the girl's face. "We must not keep the Queen waiting…"

"Quite right," Fergus agreed, instantly serious once more.

* * *

'Informal discussion,' indeed. Anora received them in the Little Audience Chamber, rather than her sitting room. They were not alone either. Chantry Boy was there, sitting next to Anora, since the Amaranthine idea was his, and with him was Eamon "the Dick" Guerrin and his brother Teagan, whose presence there was completely superfluous, as far as Loghain was concerned. Teagan was not the utter swine his brother was, but Loghain disliked the languishing looks the goateed ponce kept throwing the girl, and the totally unnecessary little attentions he paid her. If he had behaved in such a way to Anora, Loghain would have had every right to put his sword through him.

They had prepared Riordan for this discussion, talking over the matter for the past few nights. He was able to give them some insight as to how Weisshaupt would view the scheme (and why the First Warden would probably be very much in favor of it), and give an objective consideration of the pros and cons. Fortunately, he had just enough sense to agree that the cons definitely were in the majority. As they did not want to further alienate their future King, Riordan would give the initial Grey Warden opinion on the feasibility of a Fereldan arling becoming a protectorate of the Grey Wardens.

Fergus, too, was prepared with his reply. And his was the opinion Anora sought first.

"Your Majesty," he began, "the custom and law of the matter are clear enough. The arl of Amaranthine is a vassal of the teyrn of Highever, and as thus, Highever has a certain claim to the territory of Amaranthine that cannot be overridden simply by royal fiat. That said, I am perfectly cognizant of all we owe the Grey Wardens, and wish to do my part to reward and assist them in the coming days. The darkspawn are vanquished, but not eradicated. The Thaw has been explained to me, and makes clear the need for a strong Warden presence within our borders. Whether giving them an entire Fereldan arling is for the best, I am not so certain."

He continued, "Were my sister not a Grey Warden, I would undoubtedly wish to give her the arling as a hereditary desmesne to be held by her and the heirs of her body. That is not the same thing as giving the arling to the Grey Wardens as an Order. To do so would be to give a rich province and a fine city to the rule of an unknown commander designated by the First Warden. How much does the First Warden know about Amaranthine or Ferelden, for that matter, and what would he consider of first importance: the welfare of the people of the arling, or the welfare of the order?"

Alistair scowled, scuffing his boot on the floor impatiently. Anora smiled slightly and nodded to the man next to Fergus. "Senior Warden Riordan? Can you speak to that issue?"

"I can, Majesty," Riordan said gravely. "The Grey Wardens will always put their primary mission first: to do everything necessary to defeat the darkspawn. While I am certain that the Warden-Arl appointed by Weisshaupt would undertake such a responsibility with due diligence, it is certain that issues of justice, trade, provisioning, and duty to the Crown must of necessity be subordinate to the supreme mission of the Grey Wardens."

Chantry Boy was getting quite red in the face, Loghain was happy to see. They had arranged among themselves that Loghain was to say little, but still play a part. Eamon looked as if he might speak, when a sweet voice to his right began considering the matter.

"And yet…" said Maude, She paused, and smiled at Alistair. "And yet, if I may, Your Majesty, let us not be hasty in dismissing this idea. I think His Highness has raised an intriguing possibility, and with further consideration, his proposal could be implemented in such a way as to neither to compromise the mission of the Grey Wardens, nor neglect the needs of the people of Amaranthine."

Loghain remembered not to smirk. Instead, he frowned suspiciously at Maude. Riordan frowned in slight disapproval, and Fergus simply frowned. They were good frowns, too: well practiced.

Alistair perked up, both at Maude's words and Loghain's disapproval. Anora smiled at her betrothed, and laid her hand over his. He seemed to like the attention, and his ears reddened.

Did Anora know they were in collusion? Possibly, but she was interested, all the same. And thus, Maude was invited to present her counter-proposal, which she did, maps and all.

"In our recent travels, we discovered that the ancient Grey Warden fortress of Soldier's Peak was intact," she informed them, her voice mild and beguiling. "It is quite possibly the largest fortress in Ferelden."

"It is the largest, unquestionably," Loghain interjected, with the proper dose of acid.

"Very well, the largest in Ferelden. As you see, it sits on the border between Highever and Amaranthine. It is technically within the arling, but is actually somewhat closer to the city of Highever than to the city of Amaranthine."

"Only as the crow flies," Loghain corrected her. "The lay of the roads makes it a quicker journey to Amaranthine."

"Thank you, Warden Loghain," the girl replied with careful courtesy, a false mask of carefully contained patience amusing Chantry Boy and his allies. "You are correct, once again. It is of the roads I shall speak, in fact. Here the Coast Road from Amaranthine curves south and connects with the North Road. This territory west of the Road and east of the Highever border is not populous: there are only two villages within it: here, on the coast at Breaker's Cover; and a few miles north of the North Road, at Knotwood. It is lordless land at the moment, as no one has ever really claimed the Coast Mountains, and Bann Norval, whose estate extended across the road, was slain by Arl Howe, as were his heirs."

Anora nodded at her to go ahead, her brain already clicking over the possibilities.

Maude's voice was rich with persuasion and redolent with conviction. "What I propose it this: give this smaller desmesne to the Grey Wardens. The fortress of Soldier's Peak is here, which can be refurbished and once again be used to house and train Wardens as it did of old. In addition, this land can support the Wardens, even during this difficult period when the bannorn might find the usual tithes too great a strain. I am correct, am I not, Your Highness, in thinking that the heart of your plan was a wish for the Grey Wardens to be able to feed themselves?"

"Well…yes!" Alistair agreed. "And to be a bit independent of the tithes. Duncan used to go one about how hard it was to persuade people they were necessary. Right now, of course…"

"Of course…" Maude nodded to him in earnest agreement. "Right now they understand our importance. But if this plan is implemented…well, in a hundred years, or two hundred, when Blights are only a memory again, and people no longer wish to pay their proper tithes, the Grey Wardens will still have a share of their tenants' crops and fishing hauls, and a strong fortress that is proof against the darkspawn. The granite," she explained to Alistair and the Guerrins. "The Coast Mountains are granite, and the darkspawn cannot tunnel through it. That is why Commander Asturian chose the site."

Teagan was impressed at the idea, and said so. "A clever compromise! It would be the size of a large bannorn, but you do not want the Warden Commander to have such a title, I believe."

Maude nodded. "I think it best that we avoid titles, other than the honorable one of Warden Commander. As it lies within Fereldan territory, you may think it prudent for the Warden Commander to have a voice at the Landsmeet. However, the Grey Warden desmesne must be, as His Highness has said, independent, and not sworn to anyone other than the Crown of Ferelden, as far as possible, and to the mission of the Grey Wardens. The smaller size and remote location will also free the Wardens from political entanglements…"

Fergus was pretending it was all new to him. He rubbed his chin. "It would take a bite out of Amaranthine, certainly, but not a lethal one. Breaker's Cove has a nice little harbor, though the village is very small."

Riordan gave judicious, pre-prepared approval. "The city of Montsimmard and its environs is similarly a Grey Warden desmesne, and the arrangement has been found to be workable. The peasants look to the Grey Warden Commander as their lord, and their produce feeds and clothes much of the Order in Orlais."

"I hardly think," Loghain said, hoping he was not overplaying the sarcasm, "that we need to copy anything found workable by the _Orlesians."_

Well, that settled it. Alistair had never heard such a brilliant scheme in his entire life. Maude had outdone herself. The Wardens would have land of their own and stay out of politics, and it was as pretty and complete a plan as it could possibly be,

Anora looked a little amused, and no doubt suspected that what she had seen was a show to placate the King-Elect. Nonetheless, she was pleased by the plan herself, and was even curious about this huge fortress which scarcely anyone in the room had seen. Riordan was thanked and dismissed, and he departed, clearly glad to be gone so he could laugh about it in private with Leliana.

Having her wits about her, Anora then brought up the unanswered question:

"If the Wardens are not to have Amaranthine, then who is?"

It took every trick Maude possessed even to say her candidate's name without her brother exploding, even though she had discussed this with him previously. No one else was pleased at the name, either. Eamon had not deeply considered the matter, since he had mentally surrendered Amaranthine to the Wardens already. His great goal was to win the arling of Denerim for his brother. Denerim would be a greater prize than Amaranthine anyway, for the Arl of Denerim exerted immense influence through his possession of the capital city. Anora had her own dreams for Denerim, but was not quite ready to disclose them.

"Delilah Howe!" Fergus fumed. "Sometimes I really wonder about you."

"She's a lovely person. She's intelligent and compassionate. She knows Amaranthine like no other noble in Ferelden, and she cares about it. She has some good friends among the bannorn there—"

"Not Bann Esmerelle, I daresay!" Fergus sniped.

"Well, of course not, but that's rather to her credit." To the others she explained. "It was an open secret that the Bann of Amaranthine City was one of Rendon Howe's lovers. Their affair lasted for years and years, and sometimes the bann presumed on the relationship somewhat with Delilah-even with the arlessa when she still lived. I recall having to comfort Delilah after a particularly ghastly salon."

"She's still a _Howe_," Alistair said darkly, narrowing his eyes at Loghain.

"But I am a Cousland," Maude said in her clearest tones, "and I do not visit revenge and violence upon the innocent. Rendon Howe paid with his life for his crimes. Because he was a cruel and vicious man, must we follow his example?" She smiled at her brother. "And either she will not marry, and thus leave no Howes after her: or she will marry, and thus cease to be a Howe."

"Some of the Landsmeet will wonder why we haven't chosen Nathaniel," Fergus pointed out. He clarified for Alistair's sake, "The elder son. He's been off in the Free Marches for years. No one quite knows why."

"Well, I hardly think the Landsmeet will want Nathaniel. It will be difficult enough to have Delilah confirmed, even though people know that's she's very nice."

"'Very nice' does not necessarily mean the same thing as 'strong arlessa,'" Eamon pointed out carefully. Loghain was thrilled that the man had said it so he didn't have to.

"Well," Maude said sweetly, "how strong do we want Arlessa Howe of a diminished Amaranthine to be? And speaking of diminished, Fergus, would you feel better about it all if you got the southern lands to the Hafter River? You'd have a clearer border that way."

With a little more dickering and a little more horsetrading, everyone was getting quite a bit of what he or she wanted. Especially 'she,' Loghain thought grimly. Anora seemed pleased at not giving the arling to the Wardens. It was yet another loving but firm reminder that she wanted her father out of the political arena for good. Maude was pleased because she was getting her way, as usual.

Anora produced a thick sheaf of parchment. "Now that the issue of Amaranthine has been settled, let us move on to other matters: first, the ceremonial thanks to the Grey Wardens at the end of the week, and then the wedding between Alistair and myself which will take place on the twentieth next month."

The thanksgiving ceremony was not difficult to organize, and Maude's only stipulation was that there should be cake.

The wedding, on the other hand, was to be a tremendous affair: altogether grander and more expensive that Anora's wedding to Cailan. Somehow, Anora had found some gold that Loghain suspected she had carefully concealed from him while he was Regent. Doubtless she had thought that she might need coin for an escape at some point, and now, secure as Queen, she felt able to spend it in public rejoicing.

The wedding and the coronation of the King-Consort would take place at Denerim Cathedral, and then there would be a procession all the way to the Palace for the banquet and ball. The whole thing was a nightmare from a security standpoint, and Loghain was displeased that he would not be in control of it. Anora had arranged every detail herself. Loghain thought she had gone completely mad with this whole wedding business.

"This time," she insisted, "I'm going to have everything just as I like. It's _my_ day, after all."

Loghain was relieved to discover that he was going to be permitted some part in his own daughter's wedding, though that part was mostly to stand in his new armor in front of the nobles and the wealthy in the cathedral, on the bride's side of the ceremonies. And Maude would stand beside him, since Anora wanted the Wardens together on _her_ side.

"We all owe so much to you, Warden," Anora said to Maude. "And I think you will look best there, by Father. I would like you to wear red. That will complement my gown very nicely. Here," she said, giving the astonished Maude a snippet of red velvet, "is the color and fabric I have selected. Madame Deshabille will need to see you as soon as possible to take your measurements. Your jewelry and accessories, of course, will be your own choice, though since your dress will have gold embroidery, you will probably want to wear gold jewelry, rather than silver. And some sort of hair ornament would be appropriate…"

The fact that the girl would be occupying the position generally reserved for the bride's mother did not appear to concern Anora in the slightest. Loghain felt his face grow warm as the two Guerrin brothers exchanged brief, knowing looks.

"Arl Eamon, you will stand up for Alistair of course, and the Arlessa as well. I wish her to wear blue. This is the exact shade," another piece of velvet was produced and handed to the arl. "so there can be no mistake. Perhaps she could see Madame Deshabille later this morning, while Warden Maude is busy?"

Loghain glanced at the girl, who was looking with concern and carefully concealed pity at Alistair. Knowing now how the woman had treated Alistair, he could see that her presence was even more bizarre than Maude Cousland's herself. Maude, at least, had made a bargain with Anora and kept it. His daughter, in fact, owed her throne to her. Alistair, as far as he could see, owed the Arlessa Isolde less than nothing. Bridegrooms, apparently, were not to be consulted on this occasion. Chantry Boy had a hunted look about him, as Anora relentlessly consulted her lists.

"Gentlemen are to wear armor but no weapons. The female Wardens may wear the colors of their choice, but they must wear a gown, and that gown must be made by Madame Deshabille or one of her assistants. As to the decorations…"

They stumbled from the Little Audience Chamber, stunned and stupefied by the detailed planning.

"Of course," Loghain reflected, as they walked to the Wardens' Compound, "her first wedding took place when Maric had been dead only a month, and Cailan was still in mourning. It was a quiet affair."

"Whereas now," the girl agreed, "everyone is in the mood to celebrate. Everyone likes a wedding, I'm told."

"Don't you?"

She frowned. "Not very much. I'm glad that the two of them seem to be getting on better now. I know it's a marriage of convenience, but I really hope they can be happy together."

"As do I," he sighed. "The sooner I am out of the way, the sooner that is likely."

"At least you don't have to have a gown made, in a specific color!" she complained, waving the fabric swatch like a war banner, "Made by a dressmaker approved by her!"

He snorted. "I have to wear purple armor."

* * *

The meeting with the Orlesian dressmaker did not go well. Maude slunk back to the Compound that evening, looking like a sulky teenager, which she very nearly was. Leliana tried to put a good face on it, and Morrigan was clearly amused. It was impossible to avoid discussing it, for Leliana insisted on making it a topic of conversation over supper.

"Madame did not know how good Maude's Orlesian is. She was very apologetic afterward for having been so tactless and frank."

"And so she should be, the fool," sneered Morrigan.

Zevran laughed a little. "This dressmaker criticized our fair leader? She is indeed a fool, and blind as well. So," he teased Maude, "you need not be cross at all the world!"

"She said," Maude began, angry at the recollection, "that I'm scarcely fit to wear clothes: I'm too tall; my neck is too long; my shoulders are too big; I have inconvenient scars. And as for my arms…" She fell silent. Not the pleasant, 'I am at perfect peace ' silence of post-lovemaking, but the "I'm getting ready to kill someone' silence that was usually the precursor of an early grave for those who crossed her.

Leliana told them, "Madame Deshabille was very critical of Maude's arms…"

"'The arms of a farm boy,'" Maude said flatly, fiery wrath lashing beneath the surface of the words. "She was very scornful indeed."

"What do you care for the opinion of a _dressmaker?"_ Loghain asked, baffled by her evident distress. He thought Maude's strong, sculpted arms unusually beautiful.

The looks the women shot him were evidence that he simply did not understand. Morrigan seemed rather smug. Apparently the dressmaker had found_ her_ fit to wear clothes.

"So, Boss!" Oghren chuckled. "Did you ask this Madame Doesn't-Pee if you should have taken on the Archdemon with needles and pins?"

* * *

They worked hard for the next few days, or at least the servants did. The Wardens' Hall was cleared and bedchambers prepared, as they made ready for the influx of Orlesians. Maude and Ranger went down to the cellars and worked on sniffing out any hidden caches. They found one, and were inordinately pleased with themselves. Then too, everyone had to go to the Warden cache in an old warehouse in the Market District, so they knew how to find it in an emergency.

Wynne had departed from their company, and rather soon. She now had a very nice room in the Palace proper. Her relationship with Maude had faded as Maude's relationship with Loghain had bloomed. Leliana's affair with Riordan, too, was something she considered inappropriate. She stayed a few nights in the Warden Compound, and then left to be closer to Alistair. Anora rather liked her, and there was talk of her becoming Court Mage. Wynne was willing enough to join the Wardens on their patrols, but not to live with them and witness things that inevitably aroused her strongest disapproval.

For the most part, the Wardens and their companions hunted darkspawn: hunted them into the earth. The caves were cleared out: sightings had lessened to a scant handful. Loghain supposed he should be pleased, but he was certain that the enormous horde must have gone _somewhere…_

The three girls were certainly going somewhere, and all the time, too. They returned to Denerim from patrols, only to run away to the Market District, whispering about perfumers and jewelers, about shoemakers and bootmakers and corsetmakers. Among the three of them, they would have the Fereldan economy on its feet again in no time.

A dozen Orlesian Wardens arrived, and took up residence in the upper floors of the Justinian Tower. They greeted Riordan as a lost brother, and appeared to be completely unable to stop talking when gathered together. Their Senior Warden was a fellow named Kristoff, who eyed Loghain warily and treated Maude with respect. She, for her part, was uncommonly restrained and cautious around them: very proper and well-prepared at their briefings, and a model of good manners. She had clearly made a good impression on them.

They began taking their meals in the Great Hall, and it was all very much less pleasant and familial than before. Loghain found himself constantly assaulted with questions about what it had felt like to kill the Archdemon. For the most part, the story of how Avernus had diverted the Archdemon's essence was accepted, though Kristoff warned that Weisshaupt would ponder the matter very carefully.

At the end of the week they attended the formal audience of thanksgiving for the end of the Blight. The nobles, brave enough when there was a celebration, had slunk back into Denerim, pretending that they had been something other than useless. The people outside the Palace cheered, and everyone inside wore their best clothes and their blandest smiles. Anora and her betrothed stood up on the dais, looking like jeweler's work. Chantry Boy, in armor exactly like Cailan's, was impressively handsome, but said nearly nothing.

To Loghain's surprise, Leliana and Morrigan chose to wear gowns. Well—Leliana was not such a surprise, since she never missed an opportunity to tart herself up. Morrigan, though… Morrigan was becoming quite the fashionable lady, and he had actually heard her speak to Leliana of the amber velvet gown she was to wear to the wedding.

Maude never spoke of any such thing, and certainly did not wear a gown to the Thanksgiving Audience.

Instead, the girl wore Sophia Dryden's gorgeous blue-enameled plate, and looked, as always, entirely gorgeous in it. She was a warrior and a hero, first of all, and Loghain had always thought she looked splendid in armor; though of course she looked her best in nothing at all.

She had allowed Leliana to arrange her hair in a twisted mass of braids, with some curling tendrils in front that would be ridiculously impractical in battle. She had also allowed the Orlesian to apply cosmetics. The combination of polished face and hair seen above polished armor was peculiar, certainly, but also arresting and beautiful.

Anora expressed her gratitude to their faithful allies. The mages were formally thanked. It was not much of a reward, and Maude had told Loghain what she thought of it, but it was something for mages to be publicly recognized at all, and not cursed as monsters. The dwarves were given suitably vague promises of aid against the darkspawn. The Dalish were actually granted land in the south, near the Wilds. It was not very good land, and nobody else really wanted it, but it would be a place of their own. Besides, Anora thought that if the Dalish had a homeland, they would cease traveling elsewhere, which always stirred up trouble. Keeper Lanaya, at least, seemed gratified.

The Wardens and their companions were called forward to be be praised and thanked, and then Anora declared; "And we are most deeply indebted to the one who slew the Archdemon and ended the Blight! My lords, ladies, and gentlemen may I present to you the Dragonslayer Loghain Mac Tir: Hero of River Dane, and now Hero of Ferelden!"

There was nothing to done, but for Loghain to ascend the steps to the dais and receive the accolades, feeling like a thief. The girl was applauding dutifully, her lovely face grave. This would not do. Loghain gave Anora a grim look and raised his hand for silence.

In a moment, it was granted him. He said, making certain every man and woman in the Chamber could hear him, "I will not pretend that the privilege of saving this country was all my own. I would not be here before you today, and neither would many of you be alive, were it not for the courage and leadership of the Grey Warden Maude Cousland. It is she who gathered our allies and kept faith with her oaths. It is she whose skill at arms compelled me to become a Grey Warden. Whatever I have done was equally her doing, and let no one forget that, ever."

He put out his hand to her, and with a rueful smile and a little shrug, she walked up the steps to stand beside him. The crowd cheered and applauded again as the two Wardens raised their joined hands high, and Maude flashed her wonderful smile.

Anora did not seem displeased, and Chantry Boy was no more cranky than usual. The Grey Warden's rights to Soldier's Peak were publicly confirmed, and then Anora declared the Crown's grant of the surrounding lands, "with the concurrence of the Teyrn of Highever…"

The words, "Teyrn of Highever" raised some vocal approval, too. Maude smiled at her brother, who grinned back and gave her a little wave.

Then they were forced to mingle, always the part of these ceremonies that Loghain disliked the most. Didn't these people have homes to go to? They were praising him and thanking him and groveling to him, though with less artless sincerity than honest commoners and decent soldiers. What was said behind his back was more interesting, if sometimes utterly repugnant.

"…The Landsmeet? Entirely a puppet show put on to deceive us, my dear. The Cousland girl may look pretty in armor, but she was no match for Loghain. I was there myself, and I know what I saw. He had already decided to become a Warden, you see…"

"…She was good enough to rid us of Howe, thank the Maker…"

"…though I've learned that was done with Loghain's permission. Once he found out what that maniac was up to…"

"…The Queen is no fool. What better way to make certain her father will never compete for the throne again? She tossed in the Cousland girl to sweeten the arrangement…"

"…What I want to know is what Fergus Cousland has to say about his sister seducing Loghain into the Wardens…"

"…Well, poor girl, she did what she felt she had to do, I suppose. I always liked the Couslands, and she seems a sweet lass…"

"…She is. I only wish she'd come to me after her parents were killed. Perhaps I could have mediated before things had gone too far. Eamon was only interested in putting his foster-son on the throne…"

"…They were lovers as far back as Ostagar, I heard…Lovers' quarrels are always the nastiest. At least they made up in time to keep the rest of the country from going up in flames…"

"…What does Loghain have to say about these new arrivals? Those two Orlesians were more than enough, in my opinion…"

"…and she was living with our fine new Prince for _over a year_, you know. Kept him warm on cold nights, I daresay…"

"…and not only the Prince! How you seen that nasty little elf she keeps about her? Bryce and Eleanor would have died of shame…"

"…Well, _I,_ for one, will never forget that she _saved my brother!_ Excuse me, I think I need a bit of air…"

Loghain was beginning to feel that he did, too. He gave Lady Habren and Lady Rosalyn his hardest, coldest stares, and walked away. Confronting anyone might do more harm than good. He was relieved to see that Fergus was deep in conversation with Teagan.

To his surprise, tables were being set up, and refreshments laid out. Kegs of wine and ale appeared. He had never heard of food being served in the Landsmeet chamber, but Maude had been persuasive. He saw her smiling triumphantly, and came over to ask about it.

She was very pleased with herself. "I think it's nice. Something for people to do when they can't think of anything intelligent to say. Besides, it's just cake and cookies. Everyone likes that, and it hardly cost anything!"

"You mean it didn't cost _you _anything," Loghain muttered. "I presume this came from the Royal kitchens."

She nibbled a delicate meringue, and said, "Of course. I explained to the cooks that they could make a contribution to this happy day. They were very pleased at the idea."

They were bringing in the cake now, amidst "Ooos!" and "Aaaahs!" Loghain stared at it. "Surely they didn't—"

"Yes, yes!" She regarded it with great approval. "A dragon. It's meant to be the Archdemon, but people don't like purple frosting. It's not very appetizing. So it's a white dragon, with bits of pink and green. Usually they're mostly pink, though I saw one once that was sort of greenish. That was pretty." She looked for a servant. "I hope someone has the sense to take the first piece to the Queen. Or should it go to you, Dragonslayer? Neat title."

He scowled, "It's ludicrous. You've killed far more of them than I."

"Well," she sighed. "The big one is the only one that counts."

* * *

The qunari left the following day. He had stayed for the victory celebration, was pleased at the cake, and then felt he must return home to report to his superiors. Maude saw him off at the docks, and actually looked a bit red-eyed when she walked back to Loghain's side.

"I sometimes think I'll miss him most of all," she confessed as they returned to the palace. "It was so hard to understand him at first, and I had to work to get on with him. It made his friendship precious to me, because it was so blasted hard to win."

She thought a little more. "All the same, we mustn't forget that he was part of an armed scouting party that was here on an official mission to check us out. The qunari are always looking to expand."

Not too many days later, Zevran announced that he too was leaving: leaving to resolve some unfinished business in Antiva. No, he did not wish to stay for the wedding.

"Alistair—I beg your pardon-His Highness and I have never been anything you might describe as 'close.' I must go and do this—you understand? That does not mean I may not return to your chilly but ruggedly handsome country someday."

"I hope you do," Maude said feelingly. "I really hope you do. You're a brave man and a great companion, Zevran."

"And a richer one!" he smiled, flashing white teeth. "I find being a free man suits me."

"Do come back," Maude urged. "When you get the Crows sorted out, come back. You'll always have a home with the Wardens."

Loghain politely withdrew from the sentimental farewells: hugs, hand-kissing, a hearty back-slap from Oghren. He felt he was doing well simply by not sneering and rolling his eyes. The assassin had fought well and loyally, but he was a deplorable influence on Maude. The vicious gossip at the celebration had left a bad aftertaste, and anything that would lessen it would be more than welcome.

He found himself standing next to Morrigan, who had also absented herself from the tender scene. She murmured, "I once told him that he would be just the sort to interest my mother," She paused, and smiled darkly. "The sort who would never be missed."

Loghain snorted a laugh at that, and felt just the least bit more friendly to the witch.

At last the assassin was gone, and Maude was anxiously asking Oghren if he would be staying.

"For the wedding, aye. I wouldn't miss the little pike-twirler's big day for anything. After that, I'd best go lay claim to Felsi before some other bruiser does!"

"'Little pike-twirler?'" Loghain mused, warmth blooming in his heart. He really owed Oghren. He ought to give him something decent to take to his woman, if only to persuade her to keep him with her. Next to him, Morrigan chuckled.

Leliana was laughing with Riordan about the times Zevran attempted to seduce her, including one exchange when he pointed out that it had been some time since she "knocked boots."

* * *

"…Another band of trumpeters. Then, Father, you and Maude on horseback. The rest of the Blight Companions will travel in an open carriage behind you, and the Orlesian Wardens behind them. A full-sized model of the Skull of the Archdemon will be displayed next. Then another band of trumpeters, followed by Arl Eamon and Arlessa Isolde, followed by an Allegory of Peace and Prosperity. Another band of trumpeters, and then Fergus Cousland on horseback with the Sword of State, then Alistair and myself…"

Another one of Anora's ghastly wedding planning sessions. What Maude was pleased to call Anora's Exalted March would take the bridal party from the Palace to the Gate District, crossing the bridge that the dwarves had rebuilt there. They would travel up Gate Street to the Cathedral. After the wedding and Alistair's coronation, the procession would return to the Palace by way of the Dock Bridge and the King's Road to the Palace, where the banquet and ball would be held.

_And after the wedding, the bedding_…Loghain swallowed bile at the thought. _It's all bearable as long as there are children…_

There were consolations. Loghain gave thanks every day that the Alienage Bridge was not yet finished. Maude might point out that it would be appropriate to remember that the elves were also subjects, but riding through the sordid streets of the Alienage would not be anything Anora could consider 'festive.'

Howe was being blamed for the whole slavery debacle, and the elves themselves only seemed to remember that Loghain had stood at their gates with the girl and defended them from the darkspawn. Still, you never knew…

Maude's brow knit in a frown. "Your Majesty, if I may…My gown is not exactly designed for riding."

Anora was prepared for this, as she was for anything concerning this wedding. "Sidesaddle." She smiled encouragingly at Maude. "You will ride sidesaddle, as will Arlessa Isolde. As will I. Our gowns are designed to look particularly well on horseback. That is, after all, the way that most of Denerim will see us." She frowned a little, in her turn. "You _do_ know how to ride sidesaddle, don't you?"

There was nothing to say. Anora was Queen, and this was _her_ wedding.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

All was right with the world once more. Anora smiled, and continued her litany of horrors…

* * *

The men were all in armor, but with no weapons. That was protocol, but of course that meant no _visible _weapons. Loghain ran an eye over the milling crowd outside the Palace, knowing there wasn't a man present who didn't have a knife on his person somewhere. He was hardly an exception himself.

The Orlesians' appearance was presentable enough. They would march by twos, and seemed capable of not looking like asses while doing it. They all wore those Warden tunics that Maude liked so much. Warden helmets, too. Kristoff had promised to send for more from Orlais. Loghain sighed.

Riordan had his Archdemon scale, and it was very fine indeed, though the color had turned out a bit…well…_lavender_. Loghain's own armor looked much more convincingly black near it, which was all to the good. The carriage was a fine one, from the royal stables, and was decorated with flowers. Oghren was in it, snoring, while Wynne, without her staff, was trying to poke him back into consciousness.

Even Ranger had new finery. Wade had made him two collars, actually: a much heavier spiked one for battle, and the one buckled around his massive neck at the moment, studded in gold. The sight never failed to amuse Loghain.

His steed snuffled restlessly. Loghain had been given a white horse to ride, and that too, made the armor look more black than purple. Maude's smaller white palfrey was saddled and waiting.

_The girl should be here by now._

Some young noblewomen were whispering as they arrived, and looked his way. Ranger perked up, and gave a friendly bark.

_Oh…_

Loghain shut his mouth carefully, not wishing to gape. A pain knifed through his heart at the sight of the brown-haired girl in her splendid red gown. He had once seen Rowan in a gown of that color, but Rowan had never worn a delicate diamond tiara, trembling with pendant teardrop pearls. The girl's hair had been elaborately arranged to hold the tiara securely, and with her gold demon-headed necklace and her ruby ring, her appearance was superb.

"Do I look utterly ridiculous?" she asked him, seeing his expression. "I do—I know—"

"You look beautiful," he told her, without hesitation.

"Oh," she answered, surprised. "That's—good."

It really was quite a gown. Loghain cared little for women's rubbish, but he knew she would make an impression on the city, in her crimson velvet and gold embroidery, and underneath—

"Are those _boots?"_ he asked, rather startled.

"Aren't they magnificent?" the Orlesian gushed. "It was Maude's own idea to have them match the gown. They go past her knees!"

"Red velvet boots?" Loghain mused. "Those have to be the most absurd—impractical—"

"It's just for today, when I have to ride sidesaddle. People won't notice because the boots match."

"Everyone in Denerim will notice those boots," Loghain told her with absolute certainty. "And no man will ever forget them."

"I don't care!" the girl replied. "The boots give me a place for daggers! They're very _practical _boots."

Loghain, meanwhile, could only imagine the girl in the boots with all else removed. The picture this conjured, daggers and all, was formidably erotic.

_Thank the Maker for plate armor,_ he sighed inwardly.

"He likes the boots. I can tell," Leliana said to Maude, "I told you we were gorgeous."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "What you _said,"_ she disagreed, "What that we looked ravishing, and we ought to go find someone to ravish."

"Consider me ravished," Riordan said, with a gallant bow. Leliana giggled. Morrigan sneered.

How incredible to think that only a few weeks ago they had been sleeping on bare ground, clad in blood-stained armor and filthy linen. The three ladies before him looked like they had stepped out one of Cailan's silly legends of fair damsels. Of course they were all beautiful women to begin with, so the addition of baths and decent meals and magnificent clothing had made them just that much more lovely.

Riordan handed Leliana into the carriage, careful of her pearl-grey velvet and blue satin. She was wearing those ridiculous shoes again. Morrigan was much more self-conscious, and wore a great deal more jewelry than she strictly ought to. Loghain wondered how she could bear to go out without her staff.

As if reading his mind, Maude whispered to Morrigan, "Show him."

A narrow pocket had been sown into the seam of Morrigan's skirt. Morrigan reached down and withdrew something—not more than an inch—but it appeared to be a thin piece of bone…

Maude said proudly, "I asked Morrigan why staffs always had to be so big."

"It was an intriguing question," Morrigan granted. "Size does not matter, when the substance is sufficiently powerful, magically speaking. Twelves inches of Archdemon wish-bone," she clarified. "It works extremely well."

Loghain grunted, hiding his unease, "I'm glad two of you are armed."

Leliana giggled again. "Oh, we are all armed. Anything else would be foolish!" She gave Riordan a naughty smile and leaned over for him to examine her embroidered corset.

"I see," he laughed.

The procession was being marshaled with burning fanaticism by Anora's chosen guards. At a distance, Loghain could see Eamon and Isolde being helped onto their horses. With careful dispatch, a groom gave Maude a leg up. She expertly hooked her right knee around the pommel, and arranged her leg against the leaping horn. The groom lengthened the stirrup to fit her left leg. Then a maidservant bustled forward to arrange the endless yards of red velvet artistically. Loghain mounted his own horse, resigned to hours of ceremonial rubbish.

"Remember!" Leliana shouted at Maude. "Don't touch your hair! It's perfect!"

Once every one else was properly lined up, the Queen and her betrothed made their appearance. Quite an appearance it was. Alistair's armor shone with unholy brightness, and Anora was dressed…in gold. A lot of it appeared to be…real gold. In the sunlight she positively glittered. She was wearing one of the amazing crowns that King Bhelen had sent as a wedding present.

"My eyes," Maude muttered. "They bleed!"

"She looks very beautiful," Loghain said loyally. "Very majestic."

"She looks like a sovereign." Maude grinned at him, knowing he would catch her meaning. "Like a walking, talking, commanding-us-to-do-her-will-because-it's-_her_-day sov—"

"Enough!" He growled at her. "I understand what such an appearance is calculated to express—"

"So do I! I know what it means, just as I know what my appearance is calculated to express. That doesn't mean I have to like it."

The royal pair were mounting now, Anora on a white horse and Alistair on a black. It was very striking. Loghain had to admit that they made a handsome pair.

"Can our new King even ride?" Loghain sneered.

"Yes, he can _ride,_ having grown up in a stable," Maude told him frostily.

A blare of trumpets up ahead, and they were underway.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Loghain growled quietly, "What do you think your appearance is meant to express?"

"Oh, Loghain!" She nearly grimaced, but remembered to keep smiling. "I don't exactly look like a fearsome warrior like this, do I? Not like someone who could have taken down the Great Loghain, even by brilliant cheating."

It was a fact that Anora never did anything without a reason. Never without two or three reasons, actually. Loghain disliked the idea that Anora was doing this to the girl to make him look even more impressive, but it was obviously true. He was glad he had said what he had at the reception. He would keep saying it, to preserve what he could of his honor.

The ceremony itself had been organized minutely. They arrived at the Cathedral, where grooms held the horses. They proceeded into the Cathedral, which was alight with thousands of candles and filled with the ethereal sound of the Chant of Light, issuing from a hundred voices. The Chantry had worked hard, too.

"See there!" Maude whispered, "That's Sister Justine! Doesn't she look harried, poor thing!"

It was very tiresome to stand unmoving in front of all of Denerim while the Grand Cleric gave a long sermon. At least Anora and the little pike-twirler were allowed to kneel. The one good thing was that while all of Denerim was looking at him, he could look back at them. It was very interesting to study the faces: faces happy and faces crafty and sly; faces bored, and faces admiring. In the middle of the congregation was a nice-looking woman sitting between two well-dressed elven servants. Loghain did not know her at all, and wondered who she might be. She had the look of a terrified, trapped animal, and did not seem to want to be here. And then the choir sang again. And then there were readings. At last the vows were exchanged.

It all could have been worse. Loghain was proud of Anora's beauty and dignity, and relieved that Chantry Boy remembered his responses and didn't attempt to improvise something _witty_ instead. His daughter was once again wed to a son of Maric, and it was time to make a king of the bastard.

The crowns were a tricky point of protocol that gave Loghain a reason to be glad he was no longer in a position to dictate terms. Once the wedding was complete, a priest brought forth Alistair's crown. It was bigger around than Anora's, of course, but not so tall. It glittered quite as much, though, even in the candlelight. Loghain eyed it glumly, remembering that wonderful crown of his that had been crafted for the Landsmeet, which a thief had pilfered from his men. He glanced at Maude out of the corner of his eye. _Surely not…_ She looked the picture of innocence. _That little vixen…_

After blessing the crown, the Grand Cleric presented it to Anora, and bowed. Anora moved forward, a curious look in her eye. Loghain groaned inwardly, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong...

"Ow!" A muffled protest. The crown fit him, thank the Maker, though perhaps Anora didn't have to set it on his head _quite_ so firmly. Loghain smirked.

The girl bit her lip, trying not to laugh out loud.

More prayers, more choir. The Queen and King-Consort knelt for another blessing. Another, briefer sermon. Then more choir and they could get out of here.

The return procession did not seem to take so long. There was a great deal of cheering, which pleased Loghain, since the city still looked pretty damaged to him.

"Slim!" the girl shouted, waving madly. "I'm so glad to see you alive!"

"You don't have to solicit your admirers in the streets, surely," Loghain growled at her.

The girl refused to be embarrassed, and kept waving.

She seemed to know all sorts of people in Denerim—mostly the very dodgy sorts. He scowled, remembering the days when respectable types would have thought him a very dodgy sort. He had been a common farm boy in his youth until he became a poacher and a rebel and not much better than a bandit…

And this lovely girl had lived much the same life, scraping by as a hired sword for the City Guard and Maker knew whom else. The assassin had let slip that she had even done some work for the Crows, once they had judged her too troublesome to kill.

Surely no assassinations? He glanced at her, in between nodding sullenly to the crowd. No—surely she had. She was a fierce creature, and did not stick at bloodshed, though no doubt she would rationalize it as being for The Greater Good.

The crowd was happy and noisy, and free with their "Maker bless you, Wardens!" "Thank you, my lord!" "Always knew you'd save us, my lord!"

More annoying were the other remarks, as the populace gossiped freely.

"Wouldn't mind being a Grey Warden myself, if I could have women like that about! Handsome piece, ain't she?"

"Ssshhh! That's the Young Warden, that is!"

"Cor! No wonder they all do like she says—"

The girl gave Loghain a cheeky grin. He sneered back at her.

A young woman rushed forward with a bunch of white flowers for the girl.

"Maker bless you, my lady!" she called out. "And I hope you'll both be very happy!"

The two of them rode on in stunned silence.

Finally, the girl said, "Did we get married back there at the Cathedral? Because I don't remember it if we did…"

* * *

The rest of the wedding day was a blur. The feast was impressively organized and the food was actually good. Anora did not seem to eat a great deal, but the new King certainly could put it away.

The Wardens were an expensive crowd to feed. Loghain thought about what would be required to sustain even a small force. It was something that would need to be built into the victualing accounts. It was another reason to be glad that they would have farms paying in kind directly to Soldier's Peak.

Dancing was announced. Flutes shrilled and lutes twanged and drums pounded like a dull headache. The King and Queen performed a very slow and stately—and simple- pavane together, which satisfied the ceremonial requirements. Wynne beamed like a proud grandmother. The bridal couple withdrew to do whatever they could to produce the next heir of Calenhad. Loghain kissed his daughter, and she kissed him back, and nobody could possibly, at that moment, object to him glaring at Chantry Boy. Things got rather more spirited after that.

He probably drank quite a lot of wine. He remembered watching the girl dance down the inbred weaklings of the Fereldan nobility, and then he had a long, long conversation with Oghren about Women. Ranger trounced some other dogs, and then dozed off under the High Table.

Some fools were actually dancing the Remigold. The girl was clapping her hands and laughing at them. Loghain decided he would like to be close to her, and was heading that way, when there was a crash, girly screams, and a bull-like bellow.

"Say that again, and you're a dead man!"

Fergus Cousland was put out about something, or he wouldn't have broken the man's jaw. Oh, that was one of Bann Jerold's younger sons they were carrying out. Loghain didn't like him anyway. He looked around for the girl again. If there was a fight, and her brother was in it, then she surely couldn't be far away.

There she was, pale and rather sad. Loghain disliked seeing her like that, and decided it was time they went home. He said as much to Riordan, who was carrying on scandalously in the corner with Leliana.

"Maude looks tired. I'll take her back to the compound, and tomorrow—"

Fergus Cousland manifested in front of him, just exactly like magic. His face was nearly the color of Maude's gown, and Loghain was about to tell him so, when Fergus growled at him.

"When are you going to marry my sister?"

Loghain blinked at him, unprepared for that particular question. His brain was buzzing oddly.

"I'm not sure Grey Wardens can marry—"

"Oh, they can. There is no problem at all," the helpful Riordan assured them, gesturing like the bloody Orlesian he was. "It is not as if we have taken _vows_."

Leliana burst out laughing.

Fergus hissed at him, "Do you know what they're _saying _about her? Did you think you could keep any secrets in a palace full of tattling servants? They _know._ They always _know,_ and they _talk."_

It was time to sober up. Right now. Loghain tried to pull himself together, and said quietly. "Neither of us is fit to discuss the matter tonight."

"Fine," Fergus agreed, narrow-eyed and truculent. "Highever House. Tomorrow. You and me."

"Agreed."

Maude slid through the crowd to them, a ripple of blood-bright scarlet. "Are you going to fight Loghain, too, Fergus?"

"If need be," he declared, swaying a little.

"Well, don't! I'm going back to the compound, and you need to sober up!"

Fergus nodded sagely, "And then Loghain and I will talk. Tomorrow."

The girl snarled at them all. "Maker's Breath! I'm going to bed!"

* * *

She was not so vexed with him that she would not answer his soft, his very soft knock. The elaborate gown was gone, and there she was in her smalls and her red velvet boots. She really was lovely, even though she had stolen his crown…

"I need you to help me," she told him, near tears. "I can't get this tiara out of my hair. Leliana must have tied it to my head somehow. I am really tired, and I want to go to bed, and I will cut this bloody thing off if I have to!"

"Sit," he ordered, his brain buzzing more quietly now.

It took time and patience, but Loghain untangled the long brown hair from the pearls and the delicate gold. Strand after strand was worked free, and, with only a little pulling, she at last could shake out her hair and toss the offending tiara in a chest.

"Thank you," she said sweetly. "I sorry Fergus was being a silly old bear. Oriana never let him have more than three cups of wine. After that, he starts punching people."

"He asked me—"

"Not now," she murmured, stroking his jaw. "I don't want to talk about it now. Let's get to bed—or somewhere—and forget about today."

With all her recent practice, it did not take her long to have him standing naked in the middle of her bedchamber. He slipped off her smallclothes, letting his fingers wander until she moaned, and then he grunted, "Leave the boots on."

She pulled his face down to hers, hungrily kissing him, tasting of wine and honey cakes. He slid his hands down, squeezing her taut behind luxuriously, cupping her underneath and lifting her up as she wrapped her legs around him. Shifting her weight slightly, she wriggled down, easing herself onto him. It was awkward and exquisite all at once. To ease his way, he carried her to the wall and pressed her back against it, while velvet-clad ankles drummed at him. He clutched her tighter, nipping at the soft place where her neck and shoulder met, licking at a silvery old scar. Pleasure condensed, and he lost himself, pumping his life into her, until she bucked wildly, crying out, and they were done and sliding to the floor, entangled.

"Is it all right if I take the boots off now?" she murmured into his chest.

"Take good care of them," he rumbled, his senses blissfully afloat. "They're very _practical_ boots."

He staggered up, and gave her a hand. Together, they stumbled to the bed. Maude unlaced the boots and put them away, while Loghain watched her drowsily, nearly in the Fade.

She crawled into bed and kissed him again.

"Somehow I think we're having a much nicer time than the King and Queen."

Loghain knew he would rather dream of darkspawn than think about that. So he did.

* * *

_Note: I've always found it odd, and a bit implausible, that in the scenario in which Loghain kills the Archdemon, the PC is hailed as the "Hero of Ferelden." It seems to me that it would be Loghain (or Alistair, in that scenario) who would be hailed as the hero. Everyone loves those posthumous celebrations. No matter what Loghain has done or not done in the canon period, he has been Ferelden's great hero for thirty years. The PC has been on the scene for less than two, and most people (probably nearly everyone who had not personal dealings with the PC) would have heard really bad things about him/her from the Powers That Be. This is a traditional society, not a modern society with fast means of communication. People being people, I can't help but think there would be a great deal of gossip and ambivalence about the PC. People would question why Denerim was sacked by the darkspawn, why the PC killed or dueled Loghain, if it was true that the PC was an Orlesian agent, why the PC hadn't stopped the Blight earlier. If the PC is a woman, I'm absolutely certain there would be even more lurid gossip._

_Maude's achievements are being quite overshadowed by those of the Great Loghain, and that is an issue I will explore further. It will be ironic (and a test of character) for her to accept that for most people (at least in Ferelden) she is just the girl in Loghain's story. The Dalish, the mages, and the dwarves have their own and very different opinion, but their opinions do not count with the average Fereldan citizen unless the darkspawn are actually breaking down the door._

_Leliana, I thought, needed a better mission than helping establish the Sacred Ashes tourist trap to enrich the Chantry. I see no reason for Morrigan to wander off to the Frostbacks or scrape acquaintance at the court of the Empress, when she already has a powerful and influential friend who has shown herself able to protect her from Flemeth, and who is providing her with a luxurious (for her) lifestyle. Avernus' formula will mitigate the worst aspects of being a Grey Warden._

_The Amaranthine plan is unsound, and I cannot believe Loghain would ever agree to it. The Awakenings scenario itself shows the Wardens forced to deal with issues of trade and administration and petty crime when they need to be killing darkspawn!_


	14. The Best Puppets in the World!

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 14: The Best Puppets in the World!**

The day after the wedding, everyone slept late: even the servants.

Maude was angelically asleep when Loghain staggered out of her bed and into his own at some dark hour or other, guiltily aware that he had sullied her reputation. Today he would have it out with her brother, but right now he was really tired…

When his eyes opened again, it was to full and shining daylight. Voices filtered through the heavy door. Footsteps sounded on the stone stairs. He summoned his valet, managed to clean himself up, and slunk groggily off to breakfast.

A few of the Orlesians were there, looking equally under the weather. Oghren slumped at the table, head in his hands, muttering. Loghain forced himself to behave as if he were in full possession of his faculties, hiding his loathing of the very idea of porridge.

"Good morning, at last," Maude said, smirking at him. She must have already finished breakfast, for she was sitting at the desk, working busily at a pile of parchment. Her hair was down and loose over her shoulders, and the sunlight through it was quite pretty. Loghain grunted in response to her greeting and forced himself to eat.

"You're not the last to rise, anyway," she told him. "Riordan and Leliana still have not made an appearance. Nor has Morrigan, as far as I know, unless she rose very early indeed. I myself have been hard at work while the rest of you lazed about. Well, not Kristoff, of course: he has been up since dawn, he told me, and is doing his sword exercises in the Hall. So diligent of him."

Oghren groaned.

"Kristoff is never tired," muttered one of the Orlesians, "and he never has too much to drink."

"Not like us, Constant!" Maude agreed amiably. "I was horribly tired after all the pomp and circumstance yesterday, and I had two more goblets of wine that I should have, but I had a lovely bath this morning, and I feel all better now."

"Where's Ranger?" Loghain wondered, trying to remember when he had last seen the dog. One of the Orlesians snickered. Loghain narrowed his eyes.

Maude laughed. "He made his way home around dawn, and is napping now, poor darling. He overdid it a bit, too."

"What are you working on?"

"My report to Weisshaupt. Riordan and Kristoff say that I need to do it, because, as Alistair has ascended to glory, I am technically the Senior Fereldan Warden. That's quite all right. I would have been the one to write it anyway. It's quite fun, telling the ripping yarn of our adventures. I shall have to make a copy for our records." She gave Loghain a private, closed look, and he sensed that she did not want to say anything more about her report in front of the Orlesians. Not that they were in any shape to comprehend it, the pitiful sots.

He applied himself to the horrors of porridge, while her pen scratched quickly at the parchment. The Orlesians muttered among themselves in their filthy foreign tongue, and Loghain glanced under his brows at Maude, who was smiling serenely to herself. Probably these Orlesians had no idea how fluent she was. For that matter, they could not know how much Loghain understood. He absolutely refused to _speak_ Orlesian, but he had come to understand a great deal of it during the Occupation: mostly threats and insults, of course, but threats and insults could take one a long way in a foreign language.

The Orlesians were not pleased with the breakfast, nor with the quality of the wine at the Queen's wedding feast, nor with the food, the company, or the music there, but much of today's criticism stemmed from their horrendous hangovers. They seemed to like Maude well enough: too well, judging from the way that fox-faced Constant leered at her. Loghain had heard them talking now and then when she was absent, and they had agreed she was charming, and well-educated for a Fereldan barbarian—though of course she was nobly-born, and that explained a great deal. They spoke more openly and even more scandalously about Morrigan, whom they decided really _was_ a barbarian, but of remarkable beauty in spite of it—or perhaps because of it. Leliana they hardly discussed, perhaps because they considered her one of their own, and perhaps because they regarded her as Riordan's, and therefore not to be insulted with impunity.

"Sister." The Orlesians were done with breakfast at last, and with wary nods to Loghain and polite bows to Maude, left the room.

"I'm going to Highever House," Loghain told her, hauling himself to his feet. "Can I take any message to your brother for you?"

"My best love, of course. Oh—you don't want to take that one, I see," she said archly. "You could remind him of the three cup rule. That might save a few jaws."

"Want me to go with you?" Oghren croaked. "You might need a second."

Maude scowled. "He had _better not_ need a second." She glared briefly at Loghain, her meaning perfectly clear. "And I hope the two of you will remember that I am not a horse, or a good sword, or a kitchen pot, nor anything else resembling chattel. So have a nice _talk_ with Fergus, but remember I am not bound by a word of it. Talk at length. It will do you both good. Meanwhile, I shall spend my time profitably, writing glorious lies to Weisshaupt."

Oghren chuckled and poured himself a tall tankard of ale. Maude saw Loghain off, her chin lifted defiantly.

* * *

"I never _said_ she was _chattel!"_ Fergus growled. "She's always putting words in my mouth. I won't have people talking about her the way they are. Not after all she's done- all she's accomplished. She's too good for the lot of them."

"A marriage won't stop the talk," Loghain pointed out grimly, "and it will infuriate the King. You must have noticed that he hates me."

Fergus scoffed, and paced restlessly. "The King isn't the real power in Ferelden," he pointed out. "I've noticed _that. _Besides, let Maude at him. She'll convince him it's for the good of the country, or it's the fulfillment of some ancient prophecy, or that it was his idea all along. It's the sort of thing she's good at._"_

"You are presuming that _she_ thinks it's a good idea. I'm not sure she does."

"Did you _ask_ her?" Fergus snarled.

"No." He looked out the window at Denerim, devastated but rebuilding. In the distance, he could see some dwarven masons, at work on the West Gate Bridge. "She did, however, make some sort of remark once that she considered the two of us wed by the ancient Alamarri rite."

"She's crazy!" Fergus laughed angrily, and thumped his fist against the wall. "Ow," he muttered. "Nobody who is anybody marries that way anymore. I suppose it's still legal," he admitted reluctantly, "but the two of you would have to shed each other's blood…wait, I heard you did that…anyway, she's crazy, and you can tell her I said so."

"I think you should tell her yourself." Loghain had not the least desire to tell Maude that her ideas about the ancient customs of her ancestors were crazy.

Fergus himself seemed quite nervous at the prospect. "I don't want her talking me around, in that way she has. I know I'm right about this." He thought a little more. "Let me write down my arguments first, and then we'll go. That way I'll remember them even after she's done talking."

* * *

They arrived at the Warden Compound to meet Maude running out of it, wild-eyed, dragging all her companions in tow. She had not taken the time to put on her armor, and was clad in jerkin and breeches, her weapons slung over her shoulder.

"An attack?" Loghain asked, tense with anticipation.

"No! Come on!" She grabbed Loghain by one arm and Fergus by the other, nearly dragging them along in her hurry. "The seneschal said that there's a puppet show setting up just off the King's Road! I love puppet shows!"

"Oh, this is so exciting!" cried Leliana, explaining the lore to Riordan. "I adore authentic Fereldan puppet-shows: the art is a true folkway of the people. In Ferelden, they use hand-puppets, you see? In Orlais we have marionettes, but Maude feels they lack the immediacy of the hand-puppet experience, and I must agree entirely…"

Oghren trotted quickly in Morrigan's wake. "You ever see one of these puppet shows?"

"I have not," she answered crisply. "But anything is better than the boredom of those foolish young men at the Compound attempting to make love to me!"

Leliana went on: "That is the puppet theater, there in the striped booth. That man in front of the booth is called the Bottler. He introduces the show and collects the money. Behind the scenes is the Puppeteer, who controls the action. There are many different characters in the plays, but the clown is always a little elf with big ears called Punch, and he speaks in a high little voice… It is very diverting."

The bottler was shouting, "My lords, ladies, and gentlemen! Sisters and brothers of the Chantry! May I present to you the Princely Puppets of Denerim! The best puppets in the world! Either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral,tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral; scene individable, or poem unlimited. See our latest and greatest play, performed for you this very day!"

"Thank the Maker!" Maude cried, "we're just in time!" She hushed her companions, and gazed reverently at the little striped booth, eyes shining.

The bottler bowed, and declaimed, "Firstly, let me introduce you to our old friend Punch. Punch!" he called.

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry," the bottler apologized, "but if you were to all call together, perhaps he'd hear us and come up to say hello. Now! One…two…three!"

"_Punch!"_ roared the Fereldans, except for Loghain. Riordan jumped back, rather startled. Loghain smirked.

There was another pause, followed by faint squeaking noises. And then a strange high voice calling, "Rootitootitooit! What is it?"

The bottler smirked at the crowd, and said, "Punch, come up and say hello to all the people."

The little voice called back in sing-song tones, "Just a _min-ute_. I'm not _dre-essed."_

The bottler scowled. "You're still getting dressed? Don't you know we're at war?" The bottler held up a tiny suit of light armor, in Punch's classic red and yellow. "I think you'll need your armor today, Punch."

The armor disappeared behind the playboard, and then a puppet popped up, dressed in the armor and waving a sword. The audience cheered.

"That's Punch!" Leliana explained helpfully. "Isn't he adorable?"

"His ears are—very big," said Riordan.

"Of course they are," Leliana said, "He's an _elf_ puppet!"

The puppet bowed, squeaking "Rootitootitooit! How de do de? How de do de? If you all happy me all happy too. Rootitootitooit!"

And then burst into song;

_"For I'm a jolly good fellow,_

_All dressed in red and yellow_

_I'm feeling very mellow,_

_Rootitootitooit!_

_Rootitootitooit!"_

The puppet fell backwards to loud laughter, and then popped up again, wailing.

"Oh dearie me! Dearie me! The darkspawn are coming! Where's my friend the Young Warden? Save me! Save me!"

Maude's face froze. Fergus Cousland turned dull red.

A long-haired girl puppet in pink armor and winged helmet, also carrying a huge sword, popped up beside him. The audience whistled and cheered. Loghain fought the impulse to flee. This would not end well.

"I'll save you, Punch," the girl puppet boldly declared. 'but you must be steadfast, and face them at my side. Do you think you can do that, Punch? Can you face the darkspawn with me?"

Punch squeaked in distress. "Rather have a kissy!" He whined, cozying up to the girl puppet, "Kissy-kissy?"

Hilarity ensued.

"How dare you? Take that, churl," shouted the pink-armored girl, whacking him with the flat of her sword. "I'm going to have to teach you a lesson!"

Punch shrieked, "No! No! Me no like your lessons! Oh, why did I ever leave my beautiful Antiva?"

"It's Zevran!" gasped Leliana. Morrigan snickered nastily.

The crowd loved it, laughing heartily as the girl puppet whacked Punch until he flopped back into the booth.

"I was never so insulted in all my life!" the girl puppet declared, tossing her hair. She flounced out of sight, saying, "I'll just have to kill the darkspawn myself!"

"My armor is _not_ pink!" Maude protested. Fergus clutched her arm.

Poor Punch emerged again, whimpering. "Me wants to fight darkspawn and be a hero!"

"Well, Punch, me lad," declared a grizzled old soldier puppet, whose bald head and scrawny build recalled Avernus, "if you want to kill darkspawn, you have to lure them in—with _sausages!"_

The traditional string of sausages made its appearance to cheers of delight, and the old soldier instructed Punch to not eat them, no matter what happened.

While Punch debated with himself and the audience whether he would eat up the sausages himself, a massive purple head rose up and peered over his shoulder.

"Look behind you, Punch!" shrieked a child. "It's the Archdemon!"

"What?" Punch shouted back, while the Archdemon snatched a sausage away. "Who stole that sausage?" A theatrical pause and an ear-splitting scream, while Punch ran back and forth, trying to escape the wide-open jaws.

First the grizzled old soldier leaped to his defense, and was snatched up, shaken like the rag doll he was, and tossed back into the booth.

"Oh, dearie me! dearie me!" wailed Punch. "Who will fight the Archdemon?"

"Teyrn Loghain!" was the eager suggestion of the mob. Loghain gritted his teeth. If he moved now, someone was sure to recognize him.

The pink-armored girl warden popped up and whacked at the Archdemon bravely, but was caught too and shaken. She cried, "Oh, help! Help! Save me, Teyrn Loghain!" and then she too was thrown back into the booth.

Loghain waited for the inevitable catastrophe. Sure enough, a silver-clad, black-haired puppet with an incredibly grumpy expression and the biggest sword yet popped up. "I'll save you!" the monstrosity declared in a deep, manly voice.

The audience went wild.

The Loghain-puppet attacked the purple dragon, while Punch popped up, screaming, "That's the way to do it! Rootitootooit! That's the way to do it!"

The purple dragon went flying back, and the girl puppet was resurrected, cooing-

_Oh, Maker, no…_

"My hero!" And loudly kissed the Loghain-puppet. This was met with hearty approval and great applause. Punch was chanting, "That's the way to do it! That's the way to do it!"

Then Loghain realized that Maude was no longer standing beside him. How had she got away? And why was the puppet booth shaking?

Punch disappeared with a squawk, and the show was over.

* * *

"I _hate_ puppet shows," Maude sulked.

Loghain said sternly, "You're not allowed to kill puppeteers, Maude. Or their puppets. It looks bad."

"I only choked him a _little_ bit. And I had to explain that I never in my entire life screamed for help in a girly voice. Or _any_ voice."

Fergus was not to be distracted. "What's this about you and Loghain and an Alamarri custom marriage?"

She shrugged. "It's perfectly obvious to me. I _won the duel,_ he surrendered himself to me, and that's that. Sort of. With all the other bits. Everybody saw him surrender, anyway. The whole Landsmeet, so he can't get out of it now."

"I'm not trying to 'get out of it,' Loghain grimaced. "Your brother is concerned about your reputation. As am I."

"Who's been gossiping? Habren? Lady Rosalyn? Or that other old woman, her husband Ceorlic? Why would I care what such people say? It doesn't matter what I say or do, or if I were Andraste herself: nasty, small-minded people like that will always make up vicious stories."

Loghain raised his brows. "And this is the woman who was upset with remarks made by an Orlesian dressmaker!"

Fergus asked, "What did she say? You mean the Queen's dressmaker? What's she been talking about?"

Maude said coldly, "That is entirely different. She criticized my appearance based on fact. It was very hurtful because what she said was absolutely true, and involved aspects of my appearance that I am not entirely happy about."

"Rubbish!" Fergus exclaimed. "What aspects?"

"The Orlesian woman complained about Maude not being one of those hot-house Orlesian flowers. Said she had too much muscle on her."

"She said I had the arms of a farm-boy!" Maude exploded. "And I do, and they're very useful. Just not very pretty. She was rude, but she wasn't _lying."_

Fergus narrowed his eyes. "Well? Are people lying about you and Loghain?"

"I don't know," Maude said. "I don't know what they're saying. They can't really know the facts, so they probably haven't got it completely right."

"And what about King Alistair? And what about that elf servant of yours: that Zebral, or whatever his name was. Or _Punch,_" he muttered.

"His name is _Zevran,_ if you please, and he was not my _servant _or a_ coward _like that stupid puppet_,_ and if they're saying that my relationship with him or with Alistair is anything like my relationship with Loghain, then they're silly and wrong, and probably lying, because they can't possibly be right." She waved her hands in dismissal. "I really don't care what such people say about me. I'm a Grey Warden. Nothing they say has any relevance or any importance to my life at all. It simply doesn't matter."

"Well, it matters to me!" Fergus bellowed. "It matters because you're a Cousland, and Grey Wardens be damned!" He controlled himself with an effort. "If Loghain publicly marries you, then people will believe that those other stories about you can't possibly be true, because no one would believe he would marry that sort of woman."

Maude beamed at Loghain. "Do you think I'm that sort of woman?"

He rolled his eyes. "I know for a fact you are not. I am perfectly happy to marry you, though I might point out that there are aspects that might not be agreeable to you. The King hates me, and I am much older than you, and will certainly predecease you."

Fergus said, rather bitterly, "You can't know that. Plenty of men are predeceased by younger wives."

Maude came over to him, and put her arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm not trying to make you miserable, silly old Fergus. I'm simply saying that it doesn't matter to me. If it matters so much to you, and if Loghain doesn't mind, then we can get married by a priest. There now, are you happy again?"

"Married when?"

Maude shrugged. "We'll have to talk to the Queen first, and today's post-consummation audience might not be the most appropriate time. We'll talk to her as soon as possible. The one thing I insist on is that there mustn't be any silly nonsense about it. We get the priest, she says the words, and we're done. And I only want my nearest and dearest there: you, Morrigan, Leliana…"

"Which means Riordan," Loghain pointed out acidly.

She sighed. "I suppose so. And Oghren. And that's that."

Loghain glowered. "Are you saying my daughter is not welcome?"

"She must decide if she wants to come, especially with the Alistair factor to consider. She's terribly busy right now. It's not like it's going to take more than a few minutes, of course."

"I was thinking," Fergus said, consulting his notes, "that you'll want to break it to the King and _explain_ to him why it's the best thing for all concerned."

She blew out a breath, and dropped her face into her hands. "Oh, Maker!" she complained. "That will take longer than the wedding itself. I'll be at it for hours!"

"Then you'd better get started!" Fergus glared at her, completely unsympathetic.

Loghain leaned back in his chair. "It might be good for the Wardens in a larger sense," he said. "The Wardens are sometimes…too secretive…too strange. It can cause suspicion and misunderstanding. For two of them to do something…well, _normal_ might be a popular move."

Maude got to her feet and went over to the window seat, lounging there, moody and restless. "You mean," she said, "it would be the perfect fairytale ending for the Hero and his beautiful puppet-show sweetheart, the Young Warden!"

* * *

That was indeed the way Anora saw it, when the question was put to her. Loghain had not wanted to wait, and sent word that he needed to talk to her at her earliest convenience.

Anora was indeed terribly busy, but wanted to see her father, and wanted her father to see her; and that she was fine, and in no way injured by her marriage. She appeared queenly and in command at the customary formal audience, a remnant of the days when the nobles of the land had actually crowded into the royal bedchamber to confirm that consummation had been accomplished. It was her husband the King who blushed like a bride and fidgeted on his throne. Anora saw it, and gave him an indulgent smile.

"He's such a sweet boy, really," Anora told her father, in the comfort of her sitting room afterward. She looked sleek and relaxed, and ten years younger than she was. "He eats like a teenager, so I sent him down to the kitchens, where he can have a nice snack before dinner tonight, and make them understand exactly what he likes best. We can talk quite undisturbed. Do have some tea."

She poured him a cup, and he took it. It was that fragrant Highever blend she liked so much. It was something she had in common with Wynne, of all people, and the juxtaposition briefly threw him off balance.

"He didn't hurt you in any way?"

"Oh, Father!" Anora laughed. "He was such an innocent! So gentle and concerned and respectful!" She turned away, her lovely face softening as she gazed into the fire. "So desperate in his longing for love. Any attention at all means the whole world to him. He wants so much to please me. And he does. He does please me." Her laugh was tinged with cynicism, as she sipped her tea. "What woman isn't flattered by the admiration of a handsome young man ten years her junior?"

"Nine," Loghain corrected her.

She kissed his cheek, amused. "Are you content, then? You see I'm all right? Or was there something else?"

He gave her the heart of the matter in concise words: the vicious gossip, Fergus Cousland's outrage, a possible solution, Maude's willingness to accept it.

"Of course the talk is utter nonsense," Anora agreed. "It's perfectly obvious to me that there was never anything between Alistair and Maude but friendship and fraternal affection. He may have wanted something else, but their relationship was indisputably chaste. I shall make a point of commenting, from time to time, on Alistair's Templar training, and his brotherly fondness for Warden Maude. For the rest, the entire Landsmeet can see his bashful satisfaction, and draw the inevitable, correct conclusions." She set down her cup, and cocked her head. "And that elf has departed her company, you say? All for the best. A loyal servant, paid off and returning to his homeland. Nothing could be more proper and more ordinary. If he had remained, the gossips might have had a foothold, for he was certainly very handsome…"

"Maude thinks we're pandering to the gossips, by manufacturing a fairytale ending…" He would not, even under torture, mention the puppet show.

"Everyone loves a fairytale ending," Anora said, nodding wisely. "As long as Alistair can be made to see that is for the best, I am very much in favor of it. I'm not blind, Father, and of course I notice how close you and Maude have become. It might be a very pleasant thing for you, and it would certainly be popular. Tomorrow would be best, I think."

She was resigned to Maude's wish for a wedding stripped of all but the barest essentials, and nodded, "Of course. Anything would seem anticlimactic, after_ my_ wedding. Best to give out that you have been married for some time, and were keeping it quiet…"

The Alamarri custom marriage actually made her laugh out loud. "What a clever idea! While you were out in the field, with no priest nearby…Rather romantic, I suppose. Perfectly legal, too, if archaic. Yes, I can do something with that. Still, the Chantry should be involved as quickly as possible…"

Maude met him afterward, coming from the direction of the royal kitchens. She saw Loghain, and fell into step with him, with a slight shrug.

"We're good."

"You spoke to him?"

"I'm so glad we were in the kitchens. I slipped in after him, and nobody saw me. Alistair has routed out the cheese pantry, and we had such fun! Besides, I needed a lot of fortification to keep up my strength…I…Anyway, he was much impressed by the need to protect the Queen from hateful talk that linked the two of us. And then I told him there was talk about Zevran and me, and that made him laugh. He understands how it would hurt my brother and cheapen the Wardens…"

She looked sad, and briefly laid a hand on Loghain's arm. "He's so sorry for me. He's upset about you getting all the glory with that Archdemon business, of course. As well as he should be!" she added, eyes flashing. "I worked very hard, and I think I got through to him that once you became a Warden you completely changed all your opinions, and understood everything in a flash. That helps a little bit. We talked about how the Wardens need to be more visible and I mentioned a possible recruitment drive, and how much I'd like him to see Soldier's Peak when it's restored to a fit state. I got him to talk about Anora, and then he didn't want to talk about anything else."

She laughed at Loghain's outraged expression. "Nothing improper, of course! He's totally enamored and so very, very happy to belong to someone at last. It's what he's always wanted. He and Anora belong to each other, and there's no getting out of it ever, which is fine by him. So I listened to him go on about how beautiful she is, and how intelligent and considerate, and how well she listens to people, and all the things she's done for people that aren't properly appreciated…"

The servant at the Compound entrance opened the door for them, and Maude continued, her voice very soft. "He doesn't want to attend the wedding, you understand, but he understands it as being 'politically necessary.' His words, and delivered with such pity. I can't let it bother me. However galling and misplaced his pity, it's far better than his wrath, in this case."

* * *

The wedding was not exactly the bare-bones affair Maude had wanted, but as noble weddings went, it was quiet indeed.

Fergus hosted it at Highever House, and to Maude's annoyance invited close friends and relations to the ceremony and dinner. As it was very intimate, the King and Queen could attend, as private individuals, rather than in their official capacity.

The priest would be no mere priest, but the Grand Cleric, in her role not only as Ferelden's chief hierophant, but also as old friend of the bride's late mother. Well-briefed, she was to make clear that this ceremony was a Chantry regularization of a prior custom marriage.

Maude wanted to get married in armor, but to her great disappointment and disgust, Wade had not finished her set of Archdemon plate. Instead, she was wearing one of her mother's gowns, altered to fit her.

"With pins," she told Loghain glumly, while they walked to Highever House, leading their party of Wardens and other friends. "I am completely carpentered together with pins. It's incredibly uncomfortable. I wasn't going to wear that bloody red velvet thing again. Leliana ripped the seams out of this, and since there wasn't time to sew it back together, she pinned me into it."

"You look very nice," Loghain assured her. Leliana had prevailed over Maude's vocal protests, and she was wearing that bloody tiara, coupled with this pinned-together gown he did not recognize. It was sleeveless, the muted color of old roses, worn over a white silk underdress. The triple belt was also her mother's, gilded, and ending with a tassel of bullion and pearls that could have felled a bereskarn. As a gesture of solidarity, he had not worn his armor either, which would have been absurd anyway, in an intimate family setting. Ranger trotted beside them, tricked out in his gold-studded collar, more comfortable and debonair than any of the humans.

Riordan had insisted that of the other Orlesian Wardens, at least Kristoff, their Senior Warden, must be invited, and so he was. Anything else would be tactless, and exacerbate the subtle tensions in the Warden Compound.

And Fergus had evidently felt they must invite their closest blood kin, so they arrived to find that Arl Leonas Bryland and his charmless daughter Habren were present. Maude assumed the loveliest and falsest of smiles. Loghain girded himself to endure the evening.

"It's quite impossible that anyone here could actually be enjoying the experience," he muttered to Maude.

"Not true," she disagreed, her wonderful smile, worthy of the greatest and most deceitful of bards, flashing for the entrance of the King and Queen. She bowed gracefully and carefully for them, mindful of her pins, and then withdrew with Loghain to observe the scene. Ranger sat beside them, panting happily. Maude scratched his ears while she analyzed the scene.

"Fergus cherishes this illusion of normalcy. Cousin Bryland looks happy, perhaps for the same reason. Kristoff is pleased with the change of scene, and hopes to get a decent dinner out of it. Leliana and Riordan are capable of enjoying themselves wherever they go. Oghren likes Fergus, and knows there will be plenty to drink. Morrigan is enjoying the opportunity to dress beautifully and swan about, knowing that she's more beautiful than Lady Habren, and knowing that Lady Habren knows it, too." She studied the monarchs discreetly. "Alistair hates being here, but he's behaving for Anora's sake, while she seems pleased with it all. You may have a different opinion about that, since no one alive knows her better than you."

"Do I?" he snorted. "Sometimes I wonder…"

Her smile faltered a little, looking past him. "It was bold of Fergus to invite Ser Cauthrien, but it's acceptable enough in a private affair like this. I've never seen her in a gown before."

Surprised, Loghain turned to look. _Maker's Breath!_ He had never seen Cauthrien in a gown either, not since she was a skinny teenager he plucked from her farm in the bannorn, and at that, it was not a gown, but a girl's dress given her to make a decent appearance at meals. At the royal wedding she had been on duty, and of course had been clad in armor and full weaponry.

She was a brave woman, and so did not allow her discomfort to show to anyone who did not know her as Loghain did. She must feel completely naked without her greatsword! Of course she was _not_ naked, but dressed with quiet good taste, in warm browns and clear greens that became her well. She had no jewelry that Loghain could see. The thought of Cauthrien buying or wearing a frivolity like jewelry was enough to make his head explode, anyway.

Maude took in her appearance, and muttered, "I like her gown. I wish I were wearing it."

Cauthrien took a deep breath and entered the room, bowing to the King and Queen, and then was swept up in Fergus' enthusiastic greeting.

"Cauthrien! So glad to see you! You look gorgeous! Come say hello to the bride and groom!"

It could hardly be comfortable for either woman: Maude, forced into a wedding concocted by her well-meaning brother, greeting the officer who had carted her off to Fort Drakon; Cauthrien, thrust in a social situation that included the King and Queen, facing a rebel she had insulted and arrested, who was now marrying the revered mentor Cauthrien had attempted to defend. Loghain felt like a toad under a harrow, and hoped he did not look like one. Fate had a twisted sense of humor, but even Fate could go just too bloody far sometimes…

"Cauthrien," he said. She really did look very nice. "You've done something with your hair…"

She reddened, and looked away. Was it too embarrassing to appear the lady she was by royal appointment? He wished he knew a way to put her at her ease.

"My lord—Warden," she muttered gracelessly. She forced herself to face Maude. "I hope you'll be very happy." Ranger growled, very softly.

"Thank you," Maude answered, with limpid sweetness. "We are. I am delighted to see you. I know how precious your friendship has been to my brother." Her smile widened, sensing her opponent's temporary disadvantage. "How well you look. Do I detect the hand of Madame Deshabille?"

Before Loghain could divert the merciless attack, Fergus dragged them off. The Grand Cleric had arrived, and it was time to play their parts.

* * *

"Well, that was the nastiest evening of my life that did not involve actual death and dismemberment," Maude clipped out, after they were safely back in the Compound, and had said goodnight to their tipsy companions. "I'm done with nobles and noble ways. Fergus can fucking fuck himself if he expects me to do anything like that ever again."

"I'm sorry you did not enjoy your own wedding," Loghain said gravely.

She scoffed, and ruthlessly ripped the tiara from her hair. Ranger shied away, sensing her bad mood. Maude did not look her best: she was taut and washed-out, strained with too much pretense and games-playing.

She had drunk very little, and amused herself instead with watching the guests make idiots of themselves, most especially Lady Habren, who had fallen face-first in her pudding, snoring loudly. The King and Queen had left early, distressingly eager for an early bed-time.

"Ranger! Don't get too comfortable. We're going out again, just as soon as I can get out of this pincushion."

"Going out? At this hour?

"You may be the Dragonslayer and the Hero of Ferelden, but I am Andraste's True Champion. As such, it is my duty to protect her from the Chantry!" She dug out her leathers, muttering, "Holy Maker, I hate the Chantry!"

"What are you talking about?" She backed up to him, wordlessly demanding that he start unpinning her gown. She was right: she was wearing a veritable pincushion, and she was bleeding slightly from a multitude of pinpricks. No wonder she was in such a cross mood…

"You didn't hear Leliana blabbing to the Grand Cleric about the Urn and the Ashes, did you? I did. It transpires that Brother Genetivi, the scholar who put us on the track, was killed during the darkspawn invasion. He came back to Denerim—I saw him here-and tried to share his findings with the approved Chantry scholars. He was very much out of favor, but had met with some of them, and they had shown a bit of interest before everything went pear-shaped. So _Sister_ Leliana just had to tell the Grand Cleric everything, including the Andraste's Champion bit, and how I passed the challenges and won a pinch of the Ashes for Arl Eamon. Thank the Maker she doesn't know that I took more!"

"But it's all gone now."

"No, it isn't. I used a whole scoop to protect you from the Archdemon—something I am not telling the Wardens or the Chantry or anybody—but I have quite a bit left. You never know when you might need it. Anyway, the Chantry shan't have my Ashes, nor Gentivi's notes or maps or anything. What would they do but set up a money-making scheme to fleece the poor and auction off the Prophet to the highest bidder, one grain of dust at a time? I know that lot. And now the Grand Cleric will be interested in me. That can't be good. She was three sheets to the wind tonight, but tomorrow she'll remember what she heard, and she'll send her flunkys to loot Genetivi's house. Therefore, it is my duty to loot it first."

She threw aside the unpinned sections of her gown, and tugged on her studded boots. "I'm not saying I hate people like Sister Justine or my own dear Mother Mallol or even that Templar back in Lothering who wanted to protect the people. I suppose I don't even personally hate the Grand Cleric, though I think she did fuck-all to defend this country in its darkest hour. It was just business as usual, sending gangs of Templar thugs after runaways and lone hedge mages while Ferelden was consumed by the Blight. Do you know they had actually sent for the Right of Annulment during the Circle uprising? I found the Knight-Commander and his stooges in the antechamber with the doors to the Tower locked. How many mages had they saved? Not one. They were planning on killing them all, down to the last child. Cowardly bastards. I went in there with Ranger, Alistair, and Leliana. Wynne joined us, and among us we cleared out the Tower ourselves and destroyed all the abominations that the Chantry Boys couldn't. Useless fucktards."

"I know about the request for the Right of Annulment," Loghain told her, buckling a strap. "Some of my men intercepted the courier. I wasn't about to allow the Templars to wipe out Ferelden's best weapon."

"Good on you," she allowed. "If I were a mage I would have rebelled or run away myself. Screw the Chantry."

"And here I thought you were a good little follower of Andraste."

"I am," she said tartly. "That's why I'm going to save her from her priests."

"Do you really want to start something with the Chantry?" he asked, wondering why he had not married a girl who would simply want to go to bed on her wedding night.

"Two words," she smiled. "Mother Bronach."

Loghain grimaced, wishing he could punch her, but admitting to himself that she had known just how to manipulate him. Whenever he thought of that foul old collaborator, the Grand Cleric during the days of the Rebellion, he found himself reaching for his sword. The Chantry leaders had gladly obeyed the dictates of the Divine in Val Royeaux, and had done everything in their power to maintain the Orlesian hegemony. Loghain respected individual priests, but he never forgot that the Chantry was not loyal to Ferelden in any way.

They had no sooner slipped out of the Compound, clad in dark cloaks and leathers, than a raven fluttered down from an upper window to join them.

"Going somewhere?" Morrigan drawled. "You may be surprised I caught you, but the dog really needs a disguise if you wish not to be recognized."

Ranger whined. Maude had taken off his beautiful collar. What more did the shape-shifter want? Besides, he liked her better as a she-wolf.

Maude whispered, "Come along if you like. We're off to steal all of Brother Genetivi's notes and paraphernalia about the Urn of the Sacred Ashes. Leliana told the Grand Cleric about them, so I need to get them now if I'm to thwart her effectively."

"An interesting choice of entertainment for one's wedding night, but suit yourself. I shall gladly support you in any endeavor that plagues the priesthood. 'Tis not as amusing as openly taunting Templars, but 'twill do."

The scholar's house was in the Market District, across the street from the Gnawed Noble. Much of the rubble had been cleared, and the tavern was back in business; but many of the houses were still showing burn damage, and some were currently uninhabited.

Genitivi's house was one such. Genetivi had been one of those who had stood in defense of the Chantry, and had died on its steps. At least that was the story the Grand Cleric had told Leliana. It was also possible that he was one of those who had pounded on the barred doors, pleading for entry, and been denied.

The door was locked, but that did not stop Maude. Loghain and Ranger crowded into the doorway, hiding her as she worked. Her picklocks appeared in her hands as if by magic, and the door creaked open less than half a minute later.

Loghain was always bemused at additional proof that the girl was a professional thief and housebreaker. Her cloak immediately covered the window, and soon a shaded lantern was lit and in her hand, She moved through the untidy little house, carefully examining the papers scattered on a long table.

"I've been here before," she told Loghain. "The study is right through that door."

She had a cloth bag with her, too, and things began disappearing into it: little carvings, a notebook. Morrigan picked through the books, and smirked at Loghain, pointing out a curious map of western Ferelden.

Loghain took it, and then lit a candle. A very strange map, with details unknown to him. Pencilled in were villages on Fereldan soil of which he had never heard, and more importantly, which paid no taxes to the Crown. That should be remedied. But no, that was not his business any longer…still…Anora was going to need serious coin to rebuild the nation…

He decided that it was important for the welfare of Ferelden that this map be in his possession. He folded it carefully, and tucked it away in a pocket.

In the study, Maude carefully arranged a bundle of parchment, covered in tiny, even script.

"His book," she said, "It's nearly finished. We're in it, Morrigan!"

"A pity it will never see print, then!"

Maude laughed softly, and opened another chest. "Just clothing. Wait! Here's the special key that unlocked the Temple…."

They combed the little house for secret hiding places, but found none. Loghain pointed out that not everyone had treasure, after all, or was as paranoid as the Cousland family.

"My family was _murdered,_" Maude said coldly. "That makes them not paranoid, but foresighted."

Loghain wisely refrained from casting any more aspersions on her relatives, who were now his in-laws, anyway, even if most of them were deceased.

Morrigan had a bag of her own, and it was nearly bursting. "A very nice book about Dragon Cults," she said to Maude, stuffing the book into the bag with admirable determination.

"Dragon Cults," Maude snorted. "As Oghren would say, 'Good times.' Did you find any more maps?"

"Loghain got the big one," Morrigan tattled. Loghain glared at her.

"He always does," Maude sighed. "I think our work here is done. Let's straighten up a bit, and the Chantry won't realize for some time that anyone cleaned the place out. Here, Ranger, hold the lantern a minute, will you?"

They were done: tracks covered, loot gathered, lights out, and cloaks on.

"We could stop for a drink at the Gnawed Noble," Maude remarked. "Joking! Just joking!"

"I heard those _puppeteers_ were performing there tonight," Morrigan said waspishly. "That fool Constant told me. We could lie in wait for them and assassinate them for the crime of slander by puppet."

"Not a bad idea…"

"Maude, I already told you that you can't murder puppeteers," Loghain said. "Minstrels and puppeteers are _sacred._ It's beneath your dignity as a Warden and a Cousland. We were just married, and I think we should go back to the Compound and have some sort of wedding night now. Leave the puppeteers to the justice of the Maker."

"With the sort of Justice the Maker is dealing out these days," declared Morrigan, "we shall presently hear that they have been crowned Emperors of Orlais!"

* * *

_Note: Since puppet shows are mentioned in canon, I decided they are the preeminent theatrical art of Ferelden. And then I had fun, lifting bits from traditional Punch and Judy._

_Many thanks to my reviewers: Amhran Comhrac, Shakespira, Lehni, icey cold, wisecracknmama, JackOfBladesX, Guile, mutive, Chatoyant Tiger, Thorn of the Dead Gods, Persephone Chiara, Nithu, Gene Dark, Prisoner 24601, Piceron, Hekateras, Zute, mille libri, Aoi24, Costin, Windchime68, Sarah1281, and Josie Lange. Such lovely reviews. Sigh. More, please._


	15. Darkspawn Honeymoon

**The Keening Blade**  
**Chapter 15: Darkspawn Honeymoon  
**

"I love my ring," Maude told Loghain, holding her hand out to the early morning sun, the better to admire the little rainbows refracting from the diamonds. "Thank you. You have excellent taste. I only wish you'd allowed me to give you something equally splendid."

He smiled slightly, and blew a lock of wayward brown hair out of his face. There was no longer any need to slink out of her bed like a criminal in the morning. She was resting peacefully on him, belly to belly, her face nuzzling his throat. It was all very agreeable.

"Of all the rings I found that would fit you, it sparkled the most. I don't _do_ sparkly, myself, but I thought you would like it."

She smiled with delight and looked up at him. "How did you know it would fit?"

"I measured the ring finger on the inside of your gauntlet."

"You are so resourceful. I went through your belongings, too. I love diamonds, and these are _extra_-sparkly. They're that qunari cut, aren't they? I hadn't seen it before. Do you have a lot of rings lying about?"

He snorted. "I have a bit of treasure put by, yes. I promise to show it you, but not right now."

"Just as long as you do. What's yours is mine now, remember."

"Would that mean that what is yours is now mine?" he asked, raising a brow.

She laughed at him. "If you think you can get it away from me!"

The servants were coming, and Loghain flicked the bed curtains closed. Water jars clanked as the bath was filled.

"Hot water! Lovely," sighed Maude, flopping onto her back. "I married you for your bathtub, you know." She smiled at him impishly. "And by the way, Ser-Doesn't-Do-Sparkly, your ring is enchanted. Among other things, it doesn't come off!"

At breakfast, the news they heard surprised them.

"I must return to Jader," Riordan told them, not pleased at the prospect, but very determined to see it though. "I have duties there that I must no longer neglect. I should leave soon, since winter will be upon us in a few months. If your report is complete, Maude, I shall take it with me. We shall stop at Cumberland first, and entrust the report and the Archdemon blood to a Warden courier. He can take the Imperial Highway north to Weisshaupt. It is the fastest way to deliver it."

"And I shall go with him," Leliana told them, smiling dreamily. "Such a lovely voyage we shall have together. Now that I am a Grey Warden, I can return to Orlais, and fear nothing."

She and Riordan held hands and looked at each other, and Loghain did his very best to refrain from sneering. Maude could not hide her distress. She was fond of the silly bard, and enjoyed her company. Morrigan, on the other hand, was smugly satisfied. Loghain had always sensed a rivalry there over Maude's friendship.

"Then 'tis clear that you should do just that. Your work here is done. I'm sure the shops of Orlais await you, shoes and all!"

"Oh, Morrigan!" Maude threw up her hands.

"Right you are," rumbled Oghren, holding his head. "Me too. Not that I don't appreciate the social whirl here in Denerim. It's a stuffed nugful of laughs, but I'm leaving with the Feddics for Lake Calenhad and Felsi as soon as they get their stuff together. Nah. Don't look at me like that, Boss. I'll probably be back one of these days."

"Don't hurry off, Oghren," Maude urged, already distracted by Riordan and Leliana's news. "We might be able to go with you part of the way. Give me a bit of time."

Leliana would not leave, of course, until her new dragonwing armor was delivered. Days passed, and she spent quite a bit of time whispering in Maude's ear. The whispers invariably were repeated to Loghain.

"Riordan's not far from his Calling," Maude told him in the privacy of their bed. "Leliana's plan is stay with him until he has to go. Maybe she'll even go with him to Orzammar. It's certainly not far from Jader! She's missed Orlais, I think, and this will give her a chance to reconnect with her past. After Riordan is gone, she plans to come back to Ferelden and rejoin us. It may not be more than a year or two, though I'm sorry to say it. Riordan is all right."

"He could be worse," Loghain agreed, grudging every syllable. "Of course, by the time of his Calling, Leliana might have put down roots in Orlais again. Don't put too much faith in her coming back, Maude. I don't want you to be disappointed."

"She'll be back," Maude said lightly, curling up against him to sleep. "I have a _feeling_ about it."

* * *

While they were awaiting Leliana's armor, Delilah Howe arrived in Denerim, brought from the Howes' castle of Vigil Keep by a guard of the Queen's personal knights. Had the orders been for her to have a fatal accident on the way to the Landsmeet, it would have been easy enough to arrange, for darkspawn lurked under every rock along the Pilgrim's Path.

However, the orders had been otherwise, and the knights protected her successfully on their journey, keeping her horse in the midst of them. She had not been bound, but she was watched carefully. The commander of the troop saw no reason to treat the young lady harshly: she was gentle and sad, no doubt grieving for her father, and for her younger brother Thomas, killed in a skirmish with darkspawn not a month before.

She was brought directly to the palace, installed in comfortable guest quarters, and waited for others to determine her fate, as she always had.

"I'd go visit her," Maude said to Loghain, "but I can't imagine she'd want to see me. I've always liked Delilah, but I killed her father, after all. Even though he was a _rotten_ father, getting her into trouble like this."

"I'm not so sure," Loghain disagreed. "She might be glad to see a familiar face. You're going to meet eventually, so you might as well get it over with. You hated her father, but you obviously don't hate her."

Maude sprawled in the window seat of his bedchamber, thought creasing her young face into a frown. "It's complicated, Loghain. Yes, in the end I hated Howe, but I remember a time when I didn't. That's why I've never blamed you for trusting him during the war. My own father trusted him right up to the minute Howe put a dagger in his kidney." She managed a wry half-smile. "After that, perhaps not so much."

She slid off the window seat, and began picking restlessly through the articles on the vanity. "This may sound very odd, but I used to _like _Rendon Howe. We saw a lot of the Howes when I was growing up. The arl was like an uncle to me. Kind of a strict uncle you didn't talk back to, but I—" She sat down again, looking at herself in the mirror, playing with her hair. "My very first memory of Rendon Howe was when I was very little, and we were traveling to Vigil's Keep for a visit. It was a chilly day in early spring, I recall, and we stopped briefly. Fergus insisted on walking, but Howe picked me up out the carriage, and carried me. I must have been used to him, because I didn't mind a bit. He and Father and Mother were talking as they walked into the forest. There was a fox's earth, and Howe showed me that if you looked carefully through the leaves, you could see a vixen with her kits. I remember it to this day so vividly—how he smelled of leather and oiled metal and apple pomade, and how enchanting the foxes were. He told me to be very, very quiet, and I was. Fergus asked if we were going to kill them, but Father said no, and Howe said, 'Even foxes have their uses. They cull the weak.' I was so relieved that nobody was going to hurt the adorable little kits, and I was glad they had a important job to do."

Loghain thought for a moment, and then said, "Go see her. It was your idea to make her an arlessa, after all."

* * *

There was not a great deal of surprise at Delilah Howe's confirmation before the Landsmeet. It was well known that she had arrived in Denerim and had not been clapped in Fort Drakon. As she had been treated well, most people had surmised that a deal was underway to give her at least a part of the Howe patrimony.

Gossip raged about the changed borders and about the territory made over to the Grey Wardens. Gossip raged over who Delilah Howe—now an eligible young woman once more—would take as her husband. Many a bann, many a bann's heir, and many a younger son made a point of nodding and bowing and kissing her hand.

"—I always liked Lady Delilah. So refined and lady-like. So much like her mother…"

"-I know what you mean! She's not like a _Howe_ at all…"

"-Do you think Fergus Cousland will marry her? It would make sense, since the lands march…"

"-Maker's Blood! I hope not! I haven't even had a chance to introduce my Nessa to him. He's _so _very…"

"-And what about that great tract of land given to the Grey Wardens? Cousland was behind that, I'll warrant. His sister may not be able to hold a title, but he naturally wants to take care of her…"

"-I heard that was the Queen's idea. After all, if she's putting her father out to pasture with that young filly of his, they'll need somewhere to live that's far from Denerim…"

"-Well, _I_ heard it was the King's idea. He was a Grey Warden himself, and…"

"-And what about the arling of Denerim? The Queen hasn't said a word. People are getting impatient…"

Loghain was watching Anora talk with Eamon, when he sensed someone beside him. For some reason, he thought it was Maude at first, and then glanced over to see Arlessa Delilah.

"My lady."

She smiled hesitantly. "Warden…Warden Loghain. This is quite horrible, isn't it?"

"The Landsmeet is what it is," he shrugged. "One must live with it." He hoped that meeting him was not what she meant as being horrible. If she did, why was she speaking to him?

"I had not expected to live with it quite so _intimately_. Frankly, as I told Maude, I expected the Queen's knights to put me out of the castle in my shift. I also thought it possible that I might be summarily hanged. Obviously, I would have preferred the former."

He huffed an ironic laugh. "Yes, but then you would have had to worry about the future."

She smiled softly. "I assure you that I had it all planned. I had packed a bag, and was getting ready to go to Amaranthine anyway. I have…friends…there, you see."

Loghain did not allow his expression to change. Maude had told him of her conversation with Delilah. Contrary to her expectation, Delilah was grateful to Maude for ridding her of a father who had grown strange and cruel and unpredictable. Delilah had actually used the word "evil." She had been sequestered for her protection at Vigil's Keep since before the Cousland massacre, and only allowed occasional visits to Amaranthine, where she frequented the Chantry and the shops, always accompanied by guards.

It was at Amaranthine where she had made what Maude described as a shockingly unsuitable attachment. Loghain was not a snob, and did not see Delilah's tentative affection for a mild-mannered shopkeeper as the monumental catastrophe that Maude did.

After a pause, Loghain said to the new arlessa, "Maude did not want to see the innocent punished. She thinks well of you, and has always said so."

"She's so strong. Such a hero. She thinks everyone else is as strong as she. I understand that she has done this out of a desire to be fair—even generous. I have written to my brother Nathaniel, and asked him to come home and help me. That is something good that will come of all this. Father sent him away years ago to the Free Marches. 'To squire,' he said, though I think it was to keep Nathaniel, who was so fond of the Couslands, out of the way until everything was over and done and the winners were writing the histories. At least now, he and I can be together, and a family once more."

Loghain sighed. She was an honest woman. He could see why Maude liked her. "Your father and I—and I do not pretend to be innocent in this—we were both horribly wrong. Had the danger been anything but the Blight, his plan might have worked. Neither of us understood that the Blight was profoundly different from any other kind of threat."

"Father did not _want_ to understand," Delilah said calmly. "He hated the Grey Wardens more than you can imagine."

"I knew he despised them. He thought them irrelevant, and a haven for superfluous sons of the nobility—"

"No," she insisted. "He _hated_ them. Did you know that his father was a Grey Warden?"

It was unusual for him to be shocked speechless. Loghain blinked, thinking over past conversations. Maude slid through the crowd and joined them, eyeing them both with concern.

"Delilah. Is everything all right?"

"Quite all right," Delilah said gently, "though I think I just took Warden Loghain's breath away with my revelation. I suppose nobody knows that my grandfather died a Grey Warden. My family always did its best to conceal it."

She was willing enough to tell the whole story. Padric Howe had felt a sudden vocation to serve Thedas by fighting the darkspawn—even in those days when the Order was not permitted in Ferelden. He had left home and family—in the midst of the Orlesian Occupation—and had taken ship into the west, wanting to go to Weisshaupt, the very heart of the Order, and devote his life to the Grey Wardens.

"Of course, he was not the arl, and did not reasonably expect to inherit. Nonetheless, my father never got over this abandonment of what he perceived as my grandfather's real duties. No one ever heard what happened to him, either. It was as if the Grey Wardens simply swallowed him up."

Maude and Loghain caught each other's eye. It was entirely possible that idealistic, irresponsible Padric Howe had died in the Joining. Maude had a theory that the Taint had no idea what to do with people who were too _nice._

_

* * *

_Leliana's armor came two days later, and was perfection itself: a delicate lilac color with silverite fittings. A light winged helmet of silverite came with it, and Leliana was enchanted. She wore her new armor to a special audience before the King and Queen, where, for their service to Ferelden, she and Riordan were rewarded with gold medallions commemorating the end of the Fifth Blight.

"I wish they had struck those medallions before Sten and Zevran left," Maude whispered to Loghain, very dissatisfied. "They should have been recognized. I notice that _Wynne_ has one!"

"Anora is going to give us ours when we leave for the north. Oghren will get one, yes. I asked her."

"And so he should!" she hissed back.

Leliana wore her pretty grey and blue gown, rather than armor, to the Wardens' farewell party; and she and Riordan was feasted and toasted until Loghain wondered if they were actually going to be able to embark the following day. They had found a ship to take them to Cumberland, and their belongings were already packed, ready to be carted to the docks. It was surprising how many chests they had, since Riordan had traveled light, and Leliana had come to Denerim with what she had on her back. Of course, she had been patronizing the remaining shops in Denerim pretty regularly since their victory…

She and Maude put on a show not unlike the one he had witnessed at the Spoiled Princess. While this did not have the edge given by the probability of sudden and violent death within days, it was beautiful in its own way: the sweetness of the girls' voices echoing off the vaulted roof of the Wardens' Hall, the warmth of the noble fire, the pleasant sensation of being clean, and the even pleasanter one of being safe, at least for tonight.

Morrigan, queenly in purple velvet, was surrounded by the admiring Orlesian wardens, and seemed inordinately satisfied with herself. She even condescended to scratch Ranger's ears when he paid her a visit. While the departure of the other Blight companions depressed Maude, it seemed to please Morrigan no end. It was curious that she did not appear to begrudge Loghain his relationship with Maude. He considered the matter, uncomfortably aware that it might be that very relationship that had been a wedge driven between her and all her other friends. If she had killed him and become Alistair's queen, would they have departed so precipitously? Perhaps Morrigan did not mind sharing Maude with Loghain, because now she did not have to share her with anyone else. Well, except with Fergus, of course, but Morrigan seemed to like Fergus.

Maude had bought herself a lute of her own, and serenaded her friends with an old song that Loghain had always liked:

_"Oh, the summer time is coming,_  
_And the trees are sweetly blooming,_  
_And the wild mountain thyme_  
_Grows around the purple heather._

_Will you go, lassie, will you go?_

_And we'll all go together_  
_To pull wild mountain thyme_  
_All around the purple heather,_  
_Will you go, lassie, go? _

_I will build my love a bower_  
_By yon pure, crystal fountain,_  
_And round it I will pile_  
_All the flowers of the mountain._

_If my true love should prove false_  
_I will surely find another_  
_To pull wild mountain thyme_  
_All around the purple heather._

_Oh, the summertime is coming_  
_And the trees are sweetly blooming_  
_And the wild mountain thyme_  
_Grows around the purple heather._

_And we'll all go together_  
_To pull wild mountain thyme_  
_All around the purple heather,_

_Will you go, lassie, will you go? "_

* * *

Kristoff took over Riordan and Leliana's room two days after they left. He was not a bad fellow, but the unclear command structure in the Warden Compound was a constant aggravation. Kristoff commanded the Orlesian Wardens, and the Fereldan Wardens did exactly as they pleased.

Morrigan's armor arrived: or items that she called armor. It was certainly not identifiable as a mage's robe, not was it like the crude garment Flemeth had created for her.

It resembled light armor certainly, but the tassets were longer than usual, and silverite inlays traced strange flourishes and runes over breast and hip and knee caps. Archdemon leather decorated the winged helmet. Feathers subtly plumed the pauldrons and wolfskin furred the faulds. Studding the belt were bits of spiders and of bears, and creatures Loghain dared not guess at. It was quite magnificent armor, but a bit barbaric, too. Herren delivered it with trepidation, and described to Loghain Master Wade's agonies over something so exotic, and his discomfort with allowing that little dwarf to enchant it.

Morrigan agreed to carry Spellweaver and a light shield, but her primary weapon was her new and curiously very small staff—called a 'wand' by the Tevinter magisters— which was sheathed in her fine left gauntlet. No one seeing her would guess she was a mage, but they would be puzzled to guess where she hailed from. The Orlesians admired the sight of her arrayed for battle, but for very improper reasons, in Loghain's opinion.

On a particularly dull and rainy day, the four remaining Fereldan Wardens-Maude, Loghain, Morrigan, and Ranger-retired to Loghain's room to consider their situation. Maude sat by the hearth, giving Ranger a proper stomach rub. Morrigan paced restlessly, peering out the window with a dissatisfied air.

"It's too late in the year to start real work on Soldier's Peak, I suppose," Maude sighed, "but we need to be ready first thing in the spring. I should go and make some precise measurements, perhaps. Maybe we could commission some work from those dwarf masons, and from some carpenters and glaziers, too. We could do a survey, and then come back, place our orders, and winter here."

Loghain shuddered at the prospect of wintering at the Palace. Morrigan, too, was tired of the place, and expressed a desire to get out of the city for awhile.

"'Tis very diverting for a month or so, and then the crowd becomes unbearable. Such a stink! And then there is that dreary dinner once a week with King Alistair. Surely there are darkspawn somewhere that require killing?"

Loghain agreed with her: there were so very many reasons to want to get away from Denerim...

"It wouldn't take us more than two or three weeks to perform the kind of survey you're suggesting, Maude. Yes, we should do that, and give the craftsmen the winter to work. Then we can go out in the spring with windows, furnishings, and the like already prepared to be installed. However, after briefly returning to Denerim and making our commissions, I think we need to scout southwards, and see what's going on there. In the worst of the winter there are farmholds or inns where we could stay."

"Shall we go all the way to the Wilds?" Morrigan asked, raising her brows. "You wish to see what is happening around Ostagar?"

"I have no wish ever to see that place again in life," Loghain return harshly, "but it would probably be a good idea. It's where it all began."

"I suppose so," Maude considered. "And it would help Anora and Alistair settle in together if we were not on the scene. It's a perfect excuse to escape the Orlesians and the Chantry, too."

"That had occurred to me," snorted Loghain.

"There are," Morrigan began carefully, "things—books especially—that I should like to retrieve from Flemeth's hut. They may already be ravaged by wild creatures and weather, but I think not. Yes. I, too, would like to go south. Let us be cautious, however, lest we find something unpleasant lingering there."

* * *

Alistair was very vocally amused when he heard about the proposed expedition. After a few cups of wine he was ready to tease Maude about it.

"So, let me get this straight: I understand you and Loghain will be spending your honeymoon scouting for darkspawn. With Morrigan. Don't you think that sounds a little—_strange?_ Just asking."

Maude gave him her brightest smile. "How do you think Loghain and I should spend our honeymoon? And we're taking Ranger too, by the way."

"Right. Forget I said anything."

On the other hand, Fergus thought it all a very good idea. He wanted to go to Highever and start putting it to rights. He had hired on quite a few men and was already organizing his party when his sister told him of her plans to go north.

"Well—let's go together, at least part of the way," Fergus said eagerly. "I'm so pleased, pup, that you won't be living far away. Father always wanted to improve the road along the coast to Amaranthine, and with the Wardens next door, it would be a smart thing to do. I won't be able to do it soon, but I'll definitely put in on my list."

"At least there was no lack of sell-swords for hire!" Maude laughed. "A lot of them are looking for work."

"Well, I'm not just trusting mercenaries," Fergus told her. "The Queen has been good enough to lend me a company of her knights. Cauthrien—" here he looked across the room and smiled at the woman "-Cauthrien's leading them. I'll be glad of a sword arm like hers, considering what a mess the teyrnir is in!"

"Oh," Maude said, surprised. "That's—nice."

Loghain glanced up. Cauthrien was looking back at Fergus. Just looking, and not exactly smiling, but her face had a calm Loghain did not remember seeing in the past. It was not the face she had shown Loghain himself—and still…sometimes…no, it was not that look, but this was certainly something new…

They had money for horses, so they bought them. Grey Warden or not, Maude did not want Morrigan's shape-shifting abilities known to the Chantry, so it was agreed that they would have three riding horses and a pack animal. The plan was to travel with Fergus and Oghren as far as the North Road Inn. The Wardens would then travel north on the Coast Road to the Peak. Fergus and his knights would turn off onto the Highever Road in another two days, and then Oghren and the Feddics would move on, west to Lake Calenhad.

"I thought you wanted to wait until your armor was finished," Loghain said.

Maude shrugged. "The armor I've got is good enough, and I'm sick of Wade's excuses. I don't care anymore, anyway."

She was probably tired of being the girl in his story, after all, and matching armor would only exacerbate that. Loghain was not sure wearing Sophia Dryden's armor was particularly good for Maude, but they needed to go and get the survey finished, and get on with their scouting. Perhaps Wade would have finished her new armor by the time they returned to the capital.

The Orlesians, predictably, thought their departure a brilliant idea. Kristoff assured them that they would patrol the arling of Denerim most diligently, and showed Loghain plans for other scouting expeditions along the major roads and settlements. It was not a bad division of labor, after all, and it was useless to try to prevent the Orlesians from poking all about Ferelden, now that they were _here._

Before he left, Anora had a favor to ask of them. Delilah Howe, now Arlessa of Amaranthine, needed to be returned to her home at the fortress of Vigil's Keep. She was Fergus' vassal, and had been sponsored by Maude, so it was only logical that they should take her with them. There was a proper farewell audience, they all received their ridiculous medallions, and they were free to go at last. Loghain's last sight of Anora was of her holding hands with Chantry Boy. Maybe he _would _have the grandchild he had longed for, after all...

* * *

Maude agreed with him that their ride up the North Road might do some real good. They clashed frequently with darkspawn on the way, but their large party resolved the disputes in their favor with comfortable dispatch.

The second night was the worst. It seemed as if every surviving darkspawn in Ferelden emerged from the trees to attack their camp. Loghain and Maude had been sleeping—not exactly the sleep of the Just, but the equally deep sleep of the Just-After-when the lookouts gave a shout, and Ranger began baying wildly. There was just enough time to grab their weapons and put on their boots.

The moon was bright: bright enough to choose a target. A big alpha waved a serrated sword overhead, rallying the monsters.

"You archers!" Loghain shouted. "Aim at that one! Bring him down! Morrigan, freeze them!"

Everything was crisp and clear under the chilly stars, the shadows sharp-edged. Maude was a column of white, spinning, dodging, stabbing, and slashing with deadly grace.

It seemed to go on forever. He smashed the darkspawn down with his shield, and hacked at grinning, mindless faces. The press of darkspawn slackened, and then there were only a handful, and then were only a pair of emissaries, casting spells from a distance. One went down, feathered with arrows, and another lingered until Cauthrien took its head off.

A long and fearful silence followed, as everyone waited to see if the attack would be renewed by more of the creatures. When it was clear that they were all dead, there were deep sighs of relief, and an attempt by some of the knights to try to get what sleep they could. Loghain flinched away at the sight of a naked Oghren cackling over his latest kill. That was something that would probably be burned into his memory for all time, worse luck.

"It's possible that that they were drawn to us, you know," Maude murmured to him.

Loghain shrugged. "Better that they be drawn to us than to those unable to defend themselves. Perhaps the Pilgrim's Path will be quiet now, except for the usual bandits and outlaws, of course."

Morrigan walked past, her voice scornful as she told a fuming Cauthrien, "My count is twelve. Three more than you, I think…"

Within two days they were at Vigil's Keep, the seat of the Howes. Delilah was greeted with real relief by her retainers, who had feared the worst when she was taken into custody by the Queen's men. Fergus was very uncomfortable staying there, but it was necessary. In fact, it was necessary to stay for three days, while the local gentry were summoned to recognize her as their Arlessa. Loghain watched the ceremony from the shadows, and did not envy Delilah Howe her situation. These were wolves, sharpened and seasoned from years of Rendon Howe's rule.

"I hope Nathaniel comes _soon_," Maude whispered to him. "Look at them. I told Delilah to keep her guards about her. Some of those men would be just the sort to kidnap her and try to force her into a marriage!"

In another two days, they were saying their goodbyes at the North Road Inn. The landlord and his wife greeted them with nervous effusiveness. The presence of Fergus, kind and affable, did quite a bit to calm the their fears. The landlord actually managed to meet Loghain's eyes as he asked,

"The private room, my lord?"

There were six of them—seven with Ranger—in the cozy room. Green light filtered through the bottle glass windows. Fergus and Oghren were engrossed in a drinking contest almost before they took off their gauntlets. Morrigan and Cauthrien eyed one another warily, as they had ever since leaving Denerim. Loghain had no idea what issues the two women had with each other, but the rivalry was always there. A good thing they would be parting tomorrow.

They had an excellent meal, and were amused by the spectacle of Cauthrien utterly crushing Fergus at chess. Then Oghren pushed the routed teyrn out of his chair, and astonished everyone by defeating Cauthrien. In six moves. The knight stared at the board, confounded. Morrigan presented Oghren with a tankard of ale.

"Well," he croaked, staggering away. "My work here is done."

There was no need to hurry away the next morning, but the farewells were inevitable. It was best to get them over with.

"Well, I guess this is it, Boss," Oghren rumbled, almost sober. "You're the Real Thing as heroes go. I've said it before, and I'll keep on saying it."

"Don't forget that you're a hero, too, Oghren!" Maude hugged him. "All success and happiness with Felsi. Don't forget that the door is open, if you decide to come looking for us!"

Morrigan did not hug him. "Farewell dwarf. Do not, in drunken befuddlement, fall down a well and drown."

"Ah, you always talk so pretty," growled Oghren, grinning.

Loghain shoved a small parcel at Oghren. "You've served well. Here. It's for your woman. It might cause her to overlook some of your more obvious flaws."

"Wha-?" Oghren pulled away the cloth wrapping protecting the string of pearls and amethysts. "That's—well—thanks, Loghain! You're not as big an arse as I thought!"

"Likewise," Loghain conceded.

"Ooo!" Maude admired. "Those are nice!" Loghain held her wrist ruthlessly, and shook his head. She sighed and kept her hands to herself.

"They are indeed," Morrigan agreed. "Extend them toward your intended at the end of a long pole, and perhaps she will even allow you to speak to her."

Oghren laughed heartily, and waved farewell as he climbed into the Feddics' wagon.

Fergus and Maude had a longer, whispered farewell, punctuated with fierce embraces and misty eyes. Morrigan's hand was kissed gallantly, and Loghain's hand shaken.

"Come and see me soon, pup! If you don't, I'll nag you just like Mother used to!"

"And you can come to see us!" Maude said, sniffling. "I invite you just as soon as the Peak is fit to be seen. We'll be together in Denerim next spring for the Landsmeet, anyway. Take care of yourself!"

Loghain wondered if he would have to take the girl's reins and lead her away. He caught Cauthrien's cool eye taking in the scene, and gave her a nod. She opened her mouth, as if she were going to say something, but then she must have thought better of it, and only nodded back. Loghain felt a pang at the sadness of her expression, but there was no help for it. Henceforth, their lives would follow different roads, and they must each make the best of it.

* * *

Before they left Denerim, Maude had said something about having a look at Knotwood. The little village was just off the Coast Road, a few miles north of where the Coast and North Roads joined. It had been a little out of their way when they had come through months before, but Loghain felt the girl needed a bit of distraction. She was moping again, and it was not good for her.

They rode through the village unhindered, for every man, woman, and child had run away at their approach. Wide eyes peered over window sills, staring at them.

"This place does have its own quiet charm," Morrigan drawled. "And it certainly does not take long to see!"

Maude roused herself from her misery to disagree. "It's a very nice village…in its way."

"And its _way_ is to be nothing but a tavern, a smithy, and a mill!"

"Maybe we should stop at the tavern and introduce ourselves," Maude muttered, rather half-heartedly.

"I am not sure we can enter the tavern, as the very building is quivering in terror at the sight of us!"

"Enough, Morrigan," Loghain said wearily. "Let's just move on to the Peak for now. Perhaps we _should_ visit on our way back."

They traveled the twisting way to the Peak, and found subtle changes there. The air no longer smelled of demons, and no visions were to be seen. Squirrels darted across the courtyard and leaped into the nearby trees. The fortress was no longer haunted: it was merely vacant.

Their plans were already made, and they first sought out Avernus' tower workroom, securing his cache of notes and potions recipes. Morrigan sat down to read through them, while Maude searched for the old Grey Warden treasury. Loghain inspected and measured and inventoried, and decided that they really must dispose decently of all the human remains.

"You can help me dig," he told Ranger. The dog wagged his tail, happy to be of service.

"Loghain!" Maude called out from upstairs. "Come see this!"

She was in Sophia's old room, ignoring the heap of rotting Sophia by the big stone table. Her back was to him, and she was sitting on a splintery chair in front of a fireplace.

There was no fire in it, of course, Instead, she had removed bricks and dug through mortar to find the place where Sophia had hidden the remaining funds of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. The chest was not iron, but bronze, of antique Tevinter make, and was green with age but still sound.

Maude whirled on him, wickedly gleeful. Loghain nearly stepped back at the maniacal gleam in her eyes. He was glad to see her happy again, of course, but perhaps not _quite_ so happy…

"Holy Maker, we are so rich!' she exulted. She waved her hand at the open chest, inviting him forward. "Look at it! I can't wait to count it all!"

Sacks and stacks of coin, and everywhere the glint of gold. Loghain paused, thinking about how differently the past year would have gone if he had been able to put his hands on this kind of money.

"There's an accounting in here," she said, showing him a yellowed parchment, "but I'll want to count it myself, of course."

"Of course." Loghain flicked a glance over the old script. By this account, there were over a thousand sovereigns here. Funds in plenty to restore and furnish the fortress, and then some.

He cleared his throat, impressed. "I wonder why Sophia didn't just _buy _the throne? Too proud, perhaps."

"No, I think she wasn't able to access this on her own. There are two signatures here. I think there was a treasurer who had one of the keys. I suppose that's very business-like and all. And she didn't know how to pick locks, probably. They must have sealed it all away when the siege began. All the better for us!"

He gave her a hard look. "Will it be necessary for me to count this with you?"

She understood him, and shook her head. "No. I'm not going to steal from the Wardens, Loghain. That would be silly. It would be like stealing from myself. I promise to count it very carefully and write it all down. Besides, I have all the coin I can comfortably carry with me already!" She looked off into infinity and then smiled. "You know, Loghain, Weisshaupt can't possibly know about this money…"

"What do you mean?" he said, not about to stand for any nonsense.

"I mean, they can't say they already sent us all this in order to get out of sending us the money I asked for in my report."

"You asked Weisshaupt for _money?"_ he asked, taken aback.

She pounded her fist on the table in her enthusiasm. "Of course I did! We had the Blight! We were the ones who suffered! We killed the Archdemon and nobody helped us! Of all the thousands of Wardens in all Thedas, only Riordan came to our aid, and he was being used by the Orlesians, who sent him knowingly to his death. But he didn't die, and has the glory of fighting with us, so Ha! on them."

She hefted a leather pouch, eyes sparkling, enjoying the musical jingle.

"I see it this way, Loghain: the First Warden could have sent help if he'd wanted to. Not the Orlesians, even: he could have sent Wardens from the Free Marches or Antiva, or Rivain, or Nevarra, or from the Anderfels. He could have come himself, the lazy laggard, since we were having the only Blight to be had in hundreds of years. But he didn't. I think he wanted to make an _example_ of Ferelden. If an entire country had been destroyed because they had no Wardens, that would have been a lesson remembered for centuries. And your reputation would have made it even more powerful! If it meant throwing two very junior Wardens under the turnip wagon, well—" her smile turned feral, "we all have to make _sacrifices, _you know!"

Loghain scowled. He hated it when Maude got started with her conspiracy theories. They made even more sense than his own. "'Ha' on them, indeed."

"That's what I say!" she beamed, giving him a kiss. "So! Here we are, all so devastated, and starting from the ground up, and we really need gold to reequip and repair our old fortress, and why shouldn't they pay, since they couldn't trouble themselves to do anything else or even keep the griffons alive, for that matter? That really bothers me, you know. I hope they send us lots and lots of money!" She sat down, triumphant, and added, "When I sent the Archdemon blood off to the other Wardens, I asked them all for money, too!"

"You asked the _Orlesians_ for money, too?"

"Why not? They're rich, or at least they pretend to be. I gave the Orlesian copy of the report to Riordan, so they might even have seen it by now."

Loghain blew out a breath. "All right. Count it. We may want to take some back with us to Denerim to pay for all the work we're commissioning. I'll take some measurements and create the best floor-plan I can."

Dust flew as he cleaned off a workspace on the old stone table. He drew what he had notes for, and then went in search of more data. The inside of the keep needed to be completely renovated. There was a great deal of wasted space here. He opened doors, and gingerly went down old and rickety stairs. There was yet another wing none of them had seen before, full of private bedchambers. None of the furnishings were salvageable, but at least there were not a great many skeletons.

Maude joined him by the time he was ready to explore the cellars. Not surprisingly, there was not much left. The Wardens had been starving at the end, and the casks of wine and ale were empty. Old tools had rusted away, and old linens had moldered. There were some prisons cells—also empty, a still room, and some miscellaneous storage. Everything needed to be piled in a heap and incinerated. But not today.

Upstairs, Morrigan was sorting through the books.

"I found Avernus' old bedchamber in the tower," she informed them, a little defensively. "I claim it as mine."

"If you like," Maude said, perfectly agreeable. "We should have a look at it before we go, so Loghain can put any repairs it needs on his list."

Morrigan nodded stiffly, perhaps not liking to share the space even that much. She said, "Now that the demons are gone, the vermin will certainly find a way into the castle. I shall cast preservation charms and then ward what I can, but ultimately a cat or two would be a good investment."

Ranger cocked his head and whined.

"I do not disparage your hunting skills, mongrel, but surely you will have better things to do than chase mice!"

There was no great need for haste, so they explored further, and found the herb garden, and the remains of what must have been a vegetable garden. They found an old statue of a tribal warrior, broken in pieces and discarded by the north wall.

"That's a nice statue," Maude said. "I think that's meant to be Korth the Mountain Father. We could have it fixed, and put it in the herb garden."

"The Andrasteans would be shocked," Morrigan pointed out primly.

"Then we'll tell them it's Commander Asturian. It's a nice statue. Ornamental. Gardens need statues."

The ground sloped into a natural depression not far from the low walls of the vegetable garden. Loghain set himself to digging, and told the girls to start gathering the bones from the keep.

Morrigan shrugged. "I suppose it must be done. Very well: I can incinerate them here and thus we will not need a large burial pit."

"I'd appreciate it," Loghain said wryly. "Less digging is always a fine idea."

Ranger disagreed. Digging was great fun. He set to work with a will beside his good friend. It took most of a day to find all the remains and dispose of them.

"Should we bury Sophia by herself, do you think?" wondered Maude, fingering the bones of the late Commander.

"No," Loghain said crisply. "She led these men. She stayed with them to the end. We shouldn't separate her from them now."

They stood back to let Morrigan char the remains to white ash. The witch was beginning to look a little tired. Luckily, they seemed to be nearly finished.

"That's another thing to add to the list," Maude remarked. "When we go back to Denerim, let's order a nice stone to mark this place. And maybe grow some roses here. That would be very pretty. All castles should have a rose garden."

Loghain and Morrigan's eyes met, and they silently agreed that it took the strangest things to restore Maude's spirits.

* * *

It was a pleasant enough day when they came down from the Peak, and bode well to be a pleasant enough night. Rather than riding all the way to the North Road Inn, they agreed to camp at a rather pretty spot near a shaded pond. Tents were up and fire crackling in short order.

"I really don't see what this area is so thinly inhabited," Maude observed, as she brushed the horses down. "It's quite nice. Once you get down from the mountains the soil is actually pretty good. What are you looking at, Loghain?"

He squatted by the tracks, considering. "Deer. These are recent. I think we might have chance if we go down that stream bed." He strung his bow and slung his quiver over his back. Ranger bounded up, eager for the sport. "Come along if you like."

"Morrigan!" the girl said, "Do you want to hunt deer with us?"

"Let's see…er, no. I have no wish to crawl through the underbrush. Go play with your silly bows and arrows."

It was quite a pleasure, hunting on a fine day with a pretty young woman who was a good shot and knew how to be stealthy and wait for the right moment. It took time, and the sky was rosy in the west by the time they returned with a small buck, already field dressed.

Maude danced ahead, pleased with their success.

"Stay with Loghain, Ranger! I'll run back to camp and build up the fire."

Loghain heard the confrontation before he saw it. Morrigan was in icy conversation with three armed men. Three very large Templars, who did not seem pleased with her. Loghain gave a low word to the dog, who twitched restlessly. "Steady, Ranger. Let's see what's going on…" He scanned the landscape, wanting to know if these Templars were alone, or part of a larger force.

"Perhaps I should use smaller words to accommodate your puny understanding?" Morrigan drawled scornfully. "I have seen _no such person._"

"Morrigan," Maude asked, as she stepped out of cover, "are these men harassing you?"

Loghain grimaced at the edge in her voice. It would not take much for the Templars to end up dead in short order.

One of the Templars pushed at a pile of gear with the toe of his boot. He seemed to be the leader, though their faces were all concealed by their helmets.

"What are a pair of young women doing out alone?" he barked. Loghain mentally dubbed him Alpha Templar.

Another Templar added earnestly, "It's dangerous for ladies. We have reports of darkspawn in the arling!" His voice was young and anxious. A novice, fresh from the monastery, most likely.

"I think this one may be a mage, ser," the third said officiously, pointing at Morrigan. "I can just _smell_ it." His subordinate posture screamed "loyal flunky."

"They may both be mages," Alpha Templar remarked. Loghain decided he was a pompous arse.

Maude considered them, her voice sweet and poisonous. "We are _Grey Wardens,_ and I will thank you to stop kicking at my belongings with your dirty boot."

"Grey Wardens!" Loyal Flunky scoffed. "We've heard _that_ one before!"

"Apparently, they believe us to be apostates," Morrigan told Maude.

"Right," Maude snorted, scornfully turning her back on the intruders as she routed out the roasting spit. "That's absolutely right. They absolutely nailed us. We are apostates, clad in prodigiously expensive armor, because all apostates are fabulously rich and carry swords. I suppose the griffons on my breastplate don't convey 'Grey Warden' to three Chantry stooges who spent the Blight hiding from the darkspawn."

"How do we know you're Grey Wardens? You could have stolen that armor," sputtered Loyal Flunky, clearly put out at the aspersions cast on his courage.

"You know, Morrigan, I've decided I don't answer questions put by men too cowardly to show their faces. Besides, how do I know they're Templars? They could just as easily be bandits who killed Templars and stole their armor."

"We really _are_ Templars," protested Young Novice.

Alpha Templar took a step forward, snarling, "Your attitude needs an adjustment, young woman."

Maude ignored him. "I'm going to start dinner, Morrigan. Loghain got a deer." She twirled the roasting spit in her hands. If she decided to throw it, there would be Templar on the menu.

Sudden nervous shuffling. The Templars' metal heads swiveled back and forth. Loghain had seen no sign that there were more of them, and decided that he had waited long enough for his dramatic entrance. He strode out from the woods, bow in hand, the buck slung over his shoulder. Ranger padded along at his side.

"It's _him_," whispered Young Novice. "I saw him in Denerim. It's really _him_."

"Shut up, Desmond," snapped Alpha Templar.

Loghain glared at the faceless warriors, shrugging the deer off, his bow held loosely but at the ready. He had put an arrow through the eyeslit of helmets like theirs more than once. Long ago, granted, but he was still in practice.

"Er…my lord," Alpha Templar addressed him, civil but suspicious. "Are these females under your protection?"

Maude absolutely hissed, and the roasting spit stilled in her hands. Alpha Templar had a really good chance of being dead within the next few seconds.

"This lady," Loghain growled softly, "is my _wife_, and she needs no man's protection, as you will find if you continue to insult her. And that lady is a Grey Warden and our companion. And you are out of line. I suggest you leave our camp at once."

Maude burst out, "What did he mean, he'd heard someone claim to be a Grey Warden before? Loghain, I think these men have been going around murdering Grey Wardens!"

"No!" Young Novice was horrified. "We would never do that! We never killed Grey Wardens! That would be…er…_wrong!"_

Loyal Flunky huffed, "How were we supposed to know you were Wardens? You should have a uniform, or something."

"Leave our camp at once and don't come back," Loghain kept his voice level and calm, hoping to keep Maude from an outright attack. "Now."

Ranger growled, and sank into a menacing crouch.

"See here, my lord," protested the leader, now not quite so superior when faced with a genuine alpha. "You can't interfere with the Chantry! We are tracking a known apostate, and it is your duty to assist us."

Morrigan said, "They asked me if an apostate ran through our camp. I have attempted to make them understand that I have not seen such a person."

"It was not your words, but your _tone _we objected to, Grey Warden," sneered Alpha Templar.

"Our sister has given you her answer,' Loghain said, "and she is not required to grovel to you. We have seen no apostate, and now _leave."_

If Alpha Templar insisted on posturing another minute, Loghain decided he would set the dog on him. They had already wasted enough time on these fools. However, Young Novice immediately obeyed Loghain's words and turned away. The other two grumbled, and then followed.

Maude was watching them, tense and ready. "I still think we should kill them," she muttered. "Except for the boy. He's not as bad as the others."

"If we killed those two, we'd have to kill him as well," Loghain pointed out, glad there was something to hold her back before she declared war on the Chantry.

"Idiots," Maude hissed, and then dashed over to a whitewood tree, swinging up on a branch to look after the Templars. She hunkered down, watching them disappear into the distance. Loghain blew out a breath, and worked on butchering their dinner. Morrigan smirked and sat down to help him. Ranger lay down by Loghain, snapping up the tidbits he was thrown.

A little later, Maude dropped down to the ground. "They're gone," she said. "Bastards.'

Ranger rose up and shook himself, and then trotted to the edge of the pond, nosing about. He paused and crouched down, head lowered, uttering a soft growl.

"What is it, boy?" Maude asked, curious. "What have you found?"

A splash, and then another. A figure was rising from the pond: naked, dripping, wiping wet hair from his face. For one blinding, shocking moment, Loghain thought he was seeing Maric. Surely it was just a trick of the light…

"Me," declared the naked young man. "He found me."

* * *

_Note: Thanks to my splendid reviewers: KCousland, Shakespira, wisecracknmama, Sarah1281, Josie Lange, Lehni, icey cold, Chatoyant Tiger, Phygmalion, Thorn of the Dead Gods, Amhran Comhrac, wayfaringpanda, Nithu, Prisoner 24601, Gene Dark, RakeeshJ4, Aoi24, Zute, mutive, Windchime68, JackOfBladesX, Angurvddel, Evalyne, Piceron, mille libri, fastfowarmotion, and callalili._

_Thanks so much for your support and opinions!_

_Writing the other Wardens for money was first done in Amhran Comhrac's _Apostates of Amaranthine,_ so I must give credit to that great story. It makes perfect sense, of course.  
_


	16. A Son of Maric, the Unlaced

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 16: A Son of Maric, the Unlaced**

"Me," declared the naked young man. "He found me."

Ranger gave a happy bark. No one could hide from him, not even in scummy pond water. He grinned doggily, and wagged his tail with pride.

Maude congratulated her friend. "Ooo! Well done, Morrigan! You lied superbly to those Templars. I'm an expert liar myself, and you fooled me!"

Morrigan shrugged. "They asked me if an apostate had come through our camp. They did not ask me if there was a naked man in the pond."

Maude burst out laughing. "You stayed to distract them. That was very generous of you." She turned to their visitor. "You should be grateful to her, you know."

"I am," he assured them. "Most grateful. My lady, I am Anders, late of the Circle, and at your service." He bowed gracefully to Morrigan.

Loghain thought he had never seen anything so ludicrous as a naked, dripping man bowing, but the women did not seem to be of his mind. Loghain stopped smirking, and scowled. The stranger was a handsome fellow, and Loghain was once again disturbed by his strange resemblance to Maric. It must be a trick of the light, and the flawed recollection of his first meeting with a young prince running for his life. And he was naked, and Maude was looking at him. That was unacceptable.

"You should be grateful to Ranger, too," Maude told the man. "He could have tattled on you to the Templars, but he waited until they were gone. Good boy, Ranger."

Another happy bark. Ranger had understood that the shape-shifter wished to hide the male from the Lyrium Men. Perhaps she would mate with him and the pack would have puppies at last.

"Er…" said their new acquaintance. "It's a pleasant evening and all, but rather than catch cold, I would like to retrieve my belongings and perhaps actually put on my clothes. Do think it would be all right if I did that? Er…retrieve my staff, too? Is that all right with you?"

"The Templars could be lurking," Maude pointed out helpfully, giving Loghain that _look_ that meant she wanted him to _do_ something. "Would you like one of us to come with you?"

"And you wouldn't just…turn me over?" he asked delicately.

Morrigan said tartly, "We have not done so thus far!"

"True. Very true. Good point, my lady." He walked over to the pond, and carefully withdrew a worn and splintered staff from the reeds at the water's edge. "Well, I suppose I could use a bit of company. Just in case of Templars or darkspawn or rabid wolves, you know."

"I'll go with you," said Loghain dryly. "even though I'm still hoping for _dinner_ one of these days." He wanted to speak to the young man privately anyway, just to ask…just to know…It was like having Maric back, in a creepy but pleasant way. Loghain knew it was weak of him, but he would like to prolong it, just for a little…

"And then bring him back to have something to eat!" Maude urged him. "You see we'll have more than enough!"

Anders bowed again, smiling brilliantly. Just like Maric.

Loghain jerked his head at him, and the mage led the way though the trees.

"You really are Teyrn Loghain, aren't you?" Anders said, eyes bright and noticing. "I saw you at a distance once, out in the Bannorn. You seemed rather out of sorts, and your sword was absolutely dripping blood, so I didn't presume to speak to you. Some unpleasantness that had absolutely _nothing_ to do with me, so I hid in a hollow log until you and your heavily-armed associates were gone."

"That was probably wise of you," Loghain allowed.

"And you weren't wearing black armor then. Is that new? It's very imposing."

"Thank you."

"That's right! You _are_ a Grey Warden! Nifty griffons on the breastplate. I heard about you saving the country and all that. For what it's worth, thanks. I may not care for the Chantry, but our new darkspawn overlords were not going to improve my situation in the least."

Not even Cailan had been this chatty. This young man actually talked as much as Maric had, on that unbearably long first journey together into the Wilds. He was perfectly happy to fill Loghain in on his recent adventures.

"—I saw them coming, and I couldn't think of a better place to hide. I've been all over the arling this year, and I remembered the pond. Had some nice baths there, over the past months. I thought I'd have time to leave my things, so I wouldn't _completely_ ruin a very nice set of robes I rescued from a gruff personage in Amaranthine City…"

"Why wear robes?" Loghain interrupted. "It's like wearing a huge 'Mage' sign."

The handsome Maric-face turned mulish. Loghain's heart caught. He knew that expression.

"I shouldn't have to hide what I am. There's nothing wrong with being a mage. I'm not ashamed of it, and I won't apologize for it. All I want is a hot meal, a pretty girl, and a chance to shoot lightning at fools. Is that so much to ask?"

"You could have all those things in the Circle Tower," Loghain pointed out mildly.

The young man's face darkened. "But that would mean captivity, and the one thing I will not compromise about is my freedom. I've slept in trees, in caves, in rapidly-filling muddy ditches. I've peered through windows at happy families celebrating First Day, and then grubbed in their midden for offal. I've been chased out of villages in a shower of stones, and been called everything from 'abomination' to 'skirt-wearing pansy'—"

Loghain laughed in spite of himself.

"—Right. Laugh if you will, but I put up with it because I'm free. I'm a free mage, and I will never give up and go back to the Circle and be a good little slave, teaching generations of other slaves spells that they will never be allowed to use. And besides, "he added, "breeches are just _odd _when you're not used to them."

"If those Templars had caught you, they might not have taken you back to the Circle," Loghain pointed out gravely. "They possibly would have killed you instead."

"I don't know about that," Anders said. "If it came to it, I might have surprised them. I've never killed a Templar, but on the other hand, I've never allowed a Templar to kill me."

"Did you go to the Circle at a very young age?" Loghain asked, wanting to find out if the lad knew about his parentage.

"Not at all. Not until I was fifteen, in fact. That bastard Irving said that was why it was so hard for me to "settle in." Meaning, of course, that I had trouble resigning myself to imprisonment for life. My mother helped when she was alive—helped me hide my magic, but after she was gone, her brother and his wife turned me in quick smart and did very well from it too."

"Your father was—not alive?"

"No," Anders said cheerfully. "I'm a bastard. Mother used to promise me she'd tell me about my father someday—'when I was ready'—but she didn't expect to be run down and trampled to death by a noble hunting party out for a bit of sport, so that never happened."

Loghain was absolutely certain of his paternity now. "Run down? Even a noble would have to pay blood money for a fatal accident."

_Oh, Maric, couldn't you keep track of all these women?_

Anders shrugged. "Nobody pays blood money for an elf."

A little more questioning, and Loghain was fairly sure that Maric must have begotten him while Rowan was still alive. Anders was older than Alistair. He was just about Cailan's age—or the age Cailan would have been, had he lived. Had Maric even known about this son?

"So tell me," Anders asked, changing the subject. "Is there some sort of beauty requirement for female Grey Wardens?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"That's very interesting, because those ladies you travel with are really—"

"Maude is my _wife_," Loghain warned him.

"—And a lovely creature she is, too. Like one of those old Alamarri warrior goddesses…Well, the other one—Morrigan, is it?—isn't, is she? Unless you have some sort of tribal arrangement…'

Loghain let the chuckle escape. "No, I'm fairly sure I'd remember being married to Morrigan. She is Maude's very close friend."

"Nice scenery for you, anyway."

They came upon a dead dragonthorn tree, hollowed out with years and weather. Anders looked into the hollow and then reached in carefully, and withdrew a bundle of clothes and a shabby backpack. He slipped on robes and boots, smoothed his hair back, and gave Loghain a cheeky grin. As they headed back to join the women, Loghain's head spun. How many times had Maric looked up at him like that? He said nothing, only responding with noncommittal grunts to Anders' never-ending stream of cheery chatter.

"…and he was all huffing and puffing, and I was all running and screaming…"

Venison chops were sizzling over the fire, and the smell drew the men along a little faster.

* * *

It transpired that Anders was a Healer. He had been living in Knotwood for the past few months, when news of his amazing powers had leaked out, as it always did, and the Templars arrived to spoil the fun.

"I don't think the villagers meant to rat me out, but you can save old Aunt Grizzel only so many times, before people start spreading the word. Talent such as mine is its own punishment, alas."

Maude gazed at him, rapt. "A Healer," she beamed. "That's just perfect." She raised her brows and _looked_ at Loghain, who resolutely concentrated on his food.

"And you're a mage, too, " Anders grinned at Morrigan. "I love the look: the whole _'beware my wroth' _thing you have going. I don't remember you from the Circle, which is incredibly odd, because you are nothing if not memorable."

Morrigan admired the silver runes on her boots. "You would not remember me from the Circle because I have never been there. I am not a _tame_ mage."

"They never got you?" Anders' unalloyed joy spread over his face. "Never at all? That's fantastic! Good for you!"

"In fact," Morrigan continued, contempt coloring her voice. "I cannot understand why the mages endure such treatment. Surely they have the power to rebel?"

Anders did not take offense, but considered her words seriously. "It's hard to say. You could say they rebelled during Uldred's uprising, but that went wrong pretty quickly. I've had a tremendous advantage, you see, in that I was taken to the Circle when I was fifteen and already knew how the world worked. A lot of the others have lived in the Circle since they were young children, and they wouldn't know what to do, or where to go, or how to live, even if they could manage an escape attempt. They don't even understand money, or how to cook a meal, or how to order a drink in a tavern. As it is, it took me seven tries to get it right—presuming I manage to stay free this time."

"Seven!" Maude was delighted. "You must tell us about them some time!"

"Indeed," sneered Morrigan, "We would all learn how _not_ to escape the Templars, since six attempts were failures."

Anders wolfed down the rest of his chop, and licked his fingers. "This is great, by the way. Thanks. Well, Warden Morrigan, it all becomes much more complicated once they've got your phylactery."

"A phylactery?" Maude asked. "A little glass vial? I've seen those—you remember those elven ruins, Morrigan. Are you saying that all mages have phylacteries?"

Morrigan scoffed. "I have no such article, I assure you!"

"Well, I do!" Anders said resignedly. "You see, the first time they drag you to the Circle, they cut you—pretty fiercely, depending on how much sauce you gave them on your way there—and they collect the blood in the phylactery. I was pretty weak for a few days afterward, I recall, and nobody thought I should be healed, as the point was to teach me to be properly submissive. Anyway, they take your blood and then, ever after, the Templars can use it to track you."

A silence. Loghain digested this. He had always wondered about certain things. "You mean the Templars use…blood magic?"

"Yes, I do mean that," Anders said, very matter-of-fact about it. "I keep my ear to the ground, hoping I'll hear where the phylacteries are kept. There was a rumor that the Chantry in Denerim—where they're usually stored—sent some of them north during the darkspawn invasion. I've always hoped I could find mine."

"I hope you do," Maude declared. "I really do. What the Chantry does is perfectly disgusting, and it doesn't sound a bit better than those blood mages who used to live under Denerim. You remember, Morrigan? That nasty little chapel with all those vials of blood, and bits of flesh caking the floor and walls? Those vials they had must have been phylacteries, too! I wonder what they were using them for… You saw it after we got rid of them, Loghain, but believe me when I say that the darkspawn taking up residence didn't make it much worse than it already was!"

Anders was astonished in his turn. "Blood mages living under Denerim?"

"_Heaps_ of them," Maude affirmed, "in this underground complex east of the Palace district. They had mercenaries to defend them, and a kitchen and bedchambers and a study and a hall with their very own bar, and this big pompous chamber where the coven held grand meetings. It would have taken quite a force of _Templars_ to dislodge them." She smirked. "And their leader had a shaved head and this silly goatee, and a big chair like a throne, and he said I would not escape his vengeance, but everyone always says that, and then I always do."

"I see." Anders munched an apple thoughtfully. "We must move in very different social circles."

"That's because you're not an _evil_ mage. The evil ones are always giving us trouble. I have no problem distinguishing between evil mages and regular ones, who are just trying to get on with their lives like everyone else."

"That's…very comforting," Anders said. He looked quizzically at Morrigan. "I take it that you're not evil either?"

"I," said Morrigan very loftily, "am a Grey Warden. I am only evil when 'tis absolutely indispensable to be so."

"This may seem an odd question, but I don't see your staff anywhere…"

Morrigan flicked out her wand from her left gauntlet, a flash of bone-white, glittering with just a hint of frost. Anders' eyes widened.

"It works?" He asked reverently. "That's…absolutely brilliant! What it is made of?

"Archdemon bone," Maude told him proudly.

"The substance is inherently magical," Morrigan clarified, "and hence does not use those elaborate enchantments that require physical length. I can have my weapon on me at all times, if not with this gauntlet, then with a wrist holder under my sleeve."

Anders sat back, considering, and Loghain was intrigued by how his face changed as he began asking Morrigan some technical questions that were as incomprehensible to Loghain as old Tevinter. Morrigan understood him perfectly well, and did not seem to despise Anders' queries, either. Maude smirked and glanced meaningfully at Loghain once more. He frowned and looked away. He knew what she wanted, and he did not agree at all.

The fire was dying down a bit, and Loghain tossed some more wood on the blaze. Darkness gathered around them: the shadows lingered. Ranger lay on his back, panting happily, obviously angling for a belly rub.

"That's a good dog," Anders said amiably. Ranger perked up his ears at the friendly tone, and rolled over in Anders' direction. Charmed by the attention, the young mage began petting the mabari. "Who's a good boy?" he crooned.

Ranger grinned smugly.

Idly, Maude remarked. "It's lovely being a Grey Warden. The Chantry really can't bother us at all. Even our mages are completely beyond their jurisdiction. Those silly Templars were overstepping their bounds. You're perfectly safe from them, as long as you're with us. Oh! I just remembered that I have some chocolate! I'll heat up some water, and we can all have some hot chocolate with a bit of brandy in it. Do you like chocolate, Anders?"

* * *

Maude found a spare blanket for their guest, and he thanked her gratefully before wrapping himself up in it for the night. Ranger lay down nearby, partly out of friendship, and partly to keep an eye on the strange male. Morrigan took first watch, with a brusque demand that Loghain and Maude keep their usual noise to a minimum. Maude laughed, as she and Loghain unbuckled their armor and slipped into their tent.

They fell into each other's arms, into the sweet and familiar movements that brought pleasure. Maude sighed, and wrapped her legs and arms around him as he found his way home. It was impossible to be completely quiet, rocking together faster and faster. Neither could keep quite still, because it was just so _good_…

He took a moment to give her a lingering kiss afterward, and then rolled off her. He rearranged their blankets, while she hummed with afterglow. Camping with Maude was the best camping of his life. And she was a good cook, too.

Night sounds filtered through the thin walls of the tent: the birds' last songs and the lonely chirping of crickets. Peaceful sounds. Loghain lay quietly, surrendering to the call of the Fade…

He could sense that Maude was smiling. She curled up on her side and laid a hand on his arm. "Isn't Anders nice?" she whispered. "And a Healer! How lucky to find him. He's exactly what we need."

"You want to conscript him," he said, looking up into the darkness.

"Don't you? He's perfect!"

"I do not. I think he's a son of Maric."

She rose up on an elbow, trying to see him. "Really!" She lowered her voice. "Really? You think so? He does look quite a bit like Alistair, now that you mention it, though his demeanor is rather different… Did you ask him? Did he tell you?"

"He doesn't know who his father is, but based on his date of birth and where he came from and everything else, I think it's extremely likely that yes, he was sired by my old friend Maric." He said, "I don't want to conscript Maric's son. I think I've done sufficient damage to Maric and his blood."

"Maybe this is your chance to get it right. Third time's the charm, as they say." She laughed softly. "I see what you mean, though. He really does look so much like Alistair! And King Maric, too! How funny…"

"Is it?"

"Well, I supposed it isn't funny, but it _is_ odd…"

"It isn't. Not at all odd, when I remember how impossible it was for Maric to keep it in his pants."

That made her giggle, "So instead of Maric the Savior, he should be known as Maric the Unlaced?" She stroked Loghain's chest tenderly. "All the more reason to take him in. Anders needs us."

"He doesn't _need_ us. He's doing all right on his own."

"Doing 'all right' is not the same thing as doing _well._ He's strong enough, and life on the run hasn't broken him to be sure, but he's all alone and has no hope of anything better, ever. He'll never have a home or friends or any purpose beyond escaping the Chantry for another day. We can give him some of Avernus' extra-special potion, and then he can travel with us and heal us when the attentions of the darkspawn become too pressing. We'll be his family, and he can have a cozy room of his own at Soldier's Peak, and he can promenade in his best robes in front of the Chantry, arm-in-arm with Morrigan. We're his only hope, Loghain."

He sighed, seeing her point. "I don't want to force this on him. If you don't remember, the Joining is often fatal. He could die. You were not so eager when it was a matter of your friends, as I recall."

"He _won't_ die. I have a good feeling about him. We really need a Healer. And he needs us..."

* * *

After a night's sleep, Anders was ready to give polite thanks and say his farewells. Maude, predictably, was having none of that. Very frankly, she told him what he ought to do instead.

"I think you should come with us to Denerim. Do you have any pressing appointments on your schedule? No? The Grey Wardens need a capable Healer. You'd be paid and everything," Maude assured him.

"You want me to be a Grey Warden?" he asked, instantly suspicious. "Good luck with that. Not that I'm not grateful for the helpful lies and the venison and chocolate and blanket and all, but I'm not much of a _joiner."_

Loghain snorted, and muttered, "Neither am I, yet here I am."

"Loghain!" Maude urged, "Tell Anders that he'd be welcome!"

He sighed. "A Healer's skills would be _most_ welcome, if joining us is what you truly wish. Morrigan is a splendid mage, but her gifts lie elsewhere."

"'Tis all too true," Morrigan agreed immediately. "I have no gift for healing at all. During the Blight we traveled with a most tiresome old woman, and her sermons sometimes went on for days at a time, but she was an excellent Healer."

Anders laughed. "Wynne!" He shook his head. "I studied with her. I absolutely could not stand her, but she knew her craft. Is she back at the Circle now?"

"No," Loghain told him. "She's settled in as Court Mage. She's quick to prate about the importance of the Circle, but I notice she spends precious little time there."

"Not an admirer of hers either, I take it?' Anders grinned.

"Wynne is not an admirer of _mine,"_ Loghain admitted. "And she makes no bones about telling me so on every conceivable occasion."

In the midst of packing up the cooking gear, Maude stopped, and looked directly into Anders' eyes. Her voice dropped into a lower, more persuasive register. Morrigan glanced at Loghain, smirking.

Maude said, "Healing is such a magnificent talent, Anders. Why not make the most of it? Why not show the world all the good—all the real, positive, _material_ good-a mage can do when he's unfettered by the Chantry and the Circle?"

Anders smiled with friendly cynicism, and replied, "Maude—may I call you Maude? Well, Maude, I don't feel that I owe 'the world' anything. Why should _I_ have to prove myself? I used to be a good little Andrastean: said my prayers, repented my sins—up until the time I understood that it was all a complete scam. I owe them nothing. Nothing at all." He saw her look of astonished disappointment, and gave her a little bow. "Not that I'm not perfectly happy to help you personally, since you Wardens have been so very nice to me, and didn't have to be, but as to proving myself worthy to the rest of the bastards—well-I simply don't care. Their opinion means nothing to me."

Loghain was more than pleased. A son of Maric, with a will of his own? This was bloody marvelous!

But Maude was not so easily defeated. Her eyes grew larger and more wistful, if that were possible, and her voice more plangent and ensnaring. "I _do_ understand, Anders. I understand what it's like when the whole world is in arms against you. I've lived that life myself, and I'll never forget it. But I'll also never forget how precious my true friends were to me: how we worked to save this country, how we lived and laughed and fought together against what seemed insurmountable odds. I couldn't let myself care what the rest of the world thought of me, but I cared about what my friends thought of me, and I cared what I thought of myself."

Anders hesitated, and then said, "Well, I _would_ be glad of a safe place to stay for a day or two…"

Loghain sighed. The lad was doomed. Perhaps, after all, it _was_ for the best…

"All right then!" Maude enthused. "We'll have such fun! If we keep up a good pace we'll be back in Denerim in time for Satinalia!"

"You expect me to ride?" Anders asked, watching Loghain saddle the horses. "Ride a horse? That might be a problem, because I've never actually been on a horse myself. Known some people who have, but…"

Maude was at her most encouraging. "I'm sure you'll learn very quickly, and then you won't have to wear your boots out walking. Won't that be a pleasant change?" she inquired brightly.

Anders allowed that it might, and then stared as they loaded the packhorse with tents and bedrolls and other impedimenta. "Where is Warden Morrigan going to ride?" Then he grinned. "Or are we going to ride double? I have not least objection…"

Morrigan's sharp laugh interrupted his gallantry. "I have no need of a horse, Circle Mage!" Her arms swept up, her body shortened, and she was in the air, a hawk winging up to alight on a tree branch.

Anders watched her in awe and delight. "No wonder you've never been caught by the Templars! That's absolutely brilliant! I have _got_ to learn that!"

"No," Loghain said grimly. "Today you've got to learn to ride a horse. There will be time enough for mages' tricks when we're back in Denerim."

It was hard to credit, but Anders rode even more atrociously than his father. Maric was one for falling off horses at a moment's notice: Anders had a bit of trouble mounting one in the first place. Of course, no one had ever taught him properly, so Loghain spent some time showing him how to hold the reins, how to keep his heels down, how to move with the beast. The lad didn't seem a fool. If Chantry Boy could ride adequately, then Loghain had hopes that Magic Boy could, too. Eventually. With Loghain's expert tuition.

Anders could heal himself after every long ride, thus relieving himself of a world of discomfort. He also discovered that his rejuvenation spell worked perfectly well on the horses. Maude was very excited about this, since it allowed them to ride far longer, without having to breathe or walk out the horses as often. He also knew a lot about the back roads of Amaranthine, and could suggest some byways to shave time from their journey.

So they bypassed Knotwood, and then headed south, crossing the North Road, surprising the inhabitants of little farmholds with their brief appearance, scattering chickens and panicked housewives as they galloped past. The Knotwood Hills were scenic enough, and not so steep as to make traversing them unpleasant.

And they found a little band of darkspawn there.

Maude reined in her horse suddenly, looking about her. She put out a hand, gesturing at them to stop.

"Do you feel it?"

Loghain did. It was becoming easier for him, Instead of a vague tension in the back of his neck and a buzzing in his ears, he was now aware of a unique, identifiable sensation that meant darkspawn were nearby.

Morrigan flapped up and then soared overheard, using her hawk form's incredible eyesight to scout, when a volley of arrows shot directly up at her. One went through her wing. Maude cried out in horror. The hawk _screed_ as it backwinged and dropped, a solid weight dodging between feathered missiles.

Loghain dismounted and ran up to the ridge ahead of them. Maude followed a few paces behind, and Ranger bounded along, head down and ominously silent.

The hawk was down and changing: Morrigan was clutching her arm, gritting her teeth as she tried to dislodge the arrow. Darkspawn rushed from a rocky sinkhole down the slope, and she did not try to get up, but cursed them from where she sat on the ground, winded. Some stopped, but others came on.

Loghain caught the biggest of them with his shield, slamming the thing backwards and stunning it. Ranger knocked one of the cursed genlocks down and began gnawing.

Maude had rushed to defend Morrigan, but Anders was already there, staff in hand, lightning crackling out. The witch did not seem badly hurt, but it was just as well she had someone there to support her.

Loghain plunged into the midst of the creatures. Maude was a whirlwind of blades. It took some time to destroy the darkspawn, and even then Loghain and Maude had to go down to the odd deformation in the earth to see if they were truly exterminated

Ranger sniffed at the rocks and the damp soil, and they moved cautiously into a little cave, edging their way along to look for stragglers.

"Umm, dinner," Maude observed, seeing the nameless chunk of meat spitted over a smoky fire. "Or not." There was some treasure in the cave. Loghain waited impatiently for Maude to pick through it. Something about the place disturbed him, even though he could feel that the darkspawn were dead. Perhaps the creatures had lived here so long that their Taint lingered a bit. The cave narrowed at the back, only a faint breeze coming through to hint at other channels though the rock.

"I wish we knew more about darkspawn," Maude sighed, studying the scant handful of jewels glittering in the shadows, their facets gleaming with the lurid firelight. "So much is a mystery to me. Why do they collect things like jewels? Why do they collect coin? What use can it be to them? It's like a bad joke: 'Three darkspawn walk into a tavern…'"

"Maude…" Loghain growled, wishing she would stop touching things those creatures had fouled. "Let's go."

She walked after him, back to the mages, trying to sort it out.

"No, really, Loghain…'Three darkspawn walk into a tavern, and the innkeeper says—"

"We don't see your kind around here much—" Anders called out, eyes alight with mischief.

Very pleased, Maude grinned back at him. "And the darkspawn alpha says, 'After we kill you, you'll never see any of us again!"

"Oh, very clever," Morrigan sneered. Her arm appeared perfectly well, though Anders was taking no chances. His strong and capable hands were stroking the flesh into wholeness, up and down, shoulder to wrist. Loghain raised a brow, and Anders smirked back, in a moment of masculine collusion.

"All right, Morrigan," Maude teased, "How would _you_ finish it? 'Three darkspawn walk into a tavern—?"

Morrigan snorted, "The innkeeper says nothing at all, for he has shoved his elven barmaid at them for a distraction, whilst he escapes out the back door."

"You _are_ a cynic!" declared Anders. "I knew it, somehow. How about more whimsy, and less realism?" He grinned at Loghain expectantly. Maude started to laugh.

"Don't expect whimsy from Loghain. He doesn't do sparkly, either."

"Oh, come on," Anders laughed, "Now, let's just see, "Three darkspawn walk into a tavern…" He gestured at Loghain to go on.

_Silly as bloody Maric._

Loghain humored him. "'Three darkspawn walk into a tavern?' They must have been blind." He walked back to the horses, smirking.

* * *

Anders really, really, wanted to learn to be a shape-shifter, despite Morrigan's misadventure in the Knotwood Hills. His speculations were endless as to what he would like to be.

"I'd love to be an animal," he declared, "I'd like to be an animal quite a bit of the time. Nobody expects animals to be respectable, contributing members of society."

"Clearly," Loghain sneered, "You've never lived on a _farm."_

"You make a good point there," Anders allowed, after an all-too-brief moment of thought. "I think I'll forgo being a chicken or duck. Or a pig. Though pigs are smart, I understand. Maybe a cat. I really like cats. Cats go everywhere. The only thing I miss from my days at the Circle was my cat. Poor old Mister Wiggums…"

"Why 'poor' Mister Wiggums," wondered Maude. "Did something happen to him?"

Anders stretched in his saddle. "After my sixth escape attempt, I was put in solitary confinement for a year. That was fairly unpleasant. Mister Wiggums was the only one I could talk to. Just as the year was winding to its interminable end, there was something of a dust-up at the Circle. Mister Wiggums was possessed by a Rage Demon and took out three Templars."

Morrigan actually laughed. "An heroic death, indeed!"

Maude considered the matter. "I'm really a dog person, but cats have their uses. However, I notice that Morrigan is careful to change into animals that are pretty far up on the food chain."

"People don't eat cats," Anders countered.

A soft growl.

"_Mabari_ people do," Maude pointed out. "Sometimes. Though Ranger doesn't think they're very good."

"Well, perhaps _not_ a cat then , unless I'm safely ensconced behind four walls, and I'm doing a bit of civilized sneaking. Thanks for the warning." A brief silence, and then Anders said, "Maybe a really _big_ cat. What do you think, Morrigan? How about one of those northern tropical cats. Maybe a lion? They have great hair, too."

The witch snapped, "Why would I go to the trouble to teach this to someone who was not a Warden?"

"Because I saved your life?"

"You saved my life _once._ If I taught you to be a shape-shifter, you could change shape every day."

"And you get to be _alive,_ every day."

"Morrigan is quite right," Maude interposed in her most dulcet tones. Loghain narrowed his eyes and watched Anders, wanting to see how he retained any resistance at all to Maude's persuasive powers. "You really need to join us. We'll have heaps of fun—"

"—killing people and taking their stuff," Loghain muttered.

"We do quite a bit of that," Maude nodded, and her voice quivered a little with warm conviction. "When we're not killing darkspawn, we really have quite nice lives."

Loghain interrupted, spurring his horse into a quicker pace. "You don't _have_ to become a Warden to travel with us. Most of Maude's companions during the Blight were not Wardens, and did not become Wardens after."

"But if you _did,"_ Maude persisted, "then I'm sure Morrigan would relent and teach you. And I think a lion would be splendid, though I wish you could try to change into a griffon. The Grey Wardens really need griffons…"

* * *

The weather turned thoroughly nasty by the last day of the journey: damp and chilly, with a cutting wind. Loghain was relieved to see the tall spire of Fort Drakon in the distance.

"You'll have to ride double," Loghain warned Anders, "as soon as we get close enough to the city to start seeing other travelers. We would prefer that Morrigan's abilities remain secret."

"I'll keep the saddle warm for her," Anders agreed cheerfully. "Ow!" He clutched a hawk-nipped ear. "And I will behave with all imaginable decorum."

They trotted on, and after the first cart they passed, Morrigan grudgingly changed back into human form and demanded that Anders sit behind her.

"I shall certainly not ride pillion, like a puling maiden fair. 'Tis _my_ horse, and I shall control it. You will keep your hands to yourself."

In due course they were mounted and moving. There were more people on the road now, farmers and travelers in small groups, carts, and the occasional carriage. Everyone was shivering, and most were loudly predicting heavy rain.

Maude rode up to Loghain, the better to whisper, "Don't they make a handsome couple? I think Morrigan finds him attractive."

"Maker pity him."

"Don't say that! Morrigan is our good friend. You know you like her."

Loghain considered that. Yes, he supposed he did, rather. Morrigan's trenchant wit appealed to him, and she was a brave and beautiful woman. She had remained loyal to Maude, which made her a worthwhile person, at least, and he had known too many people in his life who were not. And their opinions of certain…_others_…were definitely in harmony.

"Yes, I suppose I do," he admitted, with a hint of surprise.

"You see? You want her to be happy too, and a pleasant companion would be nice for her."

"He may not stay, Maude,"

She nodded, thinking it over. "Well, if he hurts her, I'll gut him. Slowly. _That_ will teach him a lesson!"

Loghain snorted.

Some farmers in a heavy cart were approaching slowly. From the excited noise, it appeared that they might have recognized Loghain.

Suddenly, Morrigan called out, "Are those Templars behind the next bend?"

"Andraste's knickerweasels!" Anders shouted, and then slid down, hiding behind Morrigan. Ranger obliging added his bulk to the tableau, so as to better conceal the mage's legs. "Turn the horses around!" Anders whispered frantically. "It's Rylock!"

"No," Loghain ordered. "I don't care if it's Andraste herself. It's late and we're going home."

Maude added, "And don't even think about jumping off the horse. You don't know how to do it yet, and you'll get hurt, and they'll catch you for sure. Stay with us, and we'll sort it out."

The five Templars were on foot, puffing in their heavy armor, and they were running at them. Her helmet discarded, one of the rare women Templars was out in front. Interesting. She was a tall, spare woman, with eyes as large and dark as Maude's, but in her gaunt face they were not beautiful, but wild and disturbing.

"Hold!" she shrilled. "That man is a dangerous criminal!"

Maude's indignation rolled forth. "You dare speak thus of the Dragonslayer Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of River Dane and Hero of Ferelden, Savior of His Country?"

The Templars' rush halted with a mighty clanking of armor. The female Templar was temporarily knocked off balance, both physically and mentally. Then her face twisted in rage. She flung out her hand, pointing in the rudest possible way at Morrigan.

"I mean the Apostate and Maleficar Anders, who is skulking behind _that woman!"_

Anders was indeed skulking. There was no other possible word for it. However, the woman's voice scraped on Loghain's last nerve. Morrigan's too, for the yellow eyes gleamed ominously.

The heavy farm cart was coming closer. The men had removed their hats reverently. Maker's Breath! They were going to want to speak to him. Maude and Morrigan were exchanging glances, obviously ready to slaughter the importunate Templars, but the farmers' presence forced another course on Loghain.

"This man is a Grey Warden conscript. You have no further business with him."

Maude glowed with triumph, while Anders uttered a mournful groan. Morrigan's face was unreadable.

He had said it. He had never imagined those words coming from his own lips, and yet they had. But what choice was there? That Templar bitch was practically frothing at the mouth, and looked capable of any violence. It would hardly be sparing Maric's son to turn him over to the Templars. And if they killed the Templars, they would have to kill the farmers as well, to cover it up.

And to his annoyance, the crazy Templar bitch was still unconvinced. "What? Never! Not after all he's done! The Chantry's rights are paramount. I demand you surrender him to us at once!"

One of the helmeted Templars touched Rylock's arm, "Ser, I believe that actually—"

Maude walked her horse forward a few steps and glared down at Rylock. "I don't know who you think you are, but you had better listen to cooler and wiser heads _right now_. Toddle on back to the Chantry and look up the Grey Warden Treaty of Divine Age 1:15, and you will see for yourself that the Right of Conscription supersedes _every_ other claim on an individual, outweighing those of family, prince, or Chantry. No exceptions. None. _So back off."_

"I'll miss our little talks, Rylock!" came the muffled voice of Anders.

Morrigan sneered coldly, but it was directed at the Templars. Rylock was restrained by her comrades, and after a muttered council, the Templars moved on, going north on the Pilgrim's Path.

And the farm wagon had arrived, with its knot of fervent admirers: men and women who would not stop calling him Teyrn Loghain. They bowed, thanked him, wished him a happy Satinalia, and gave him their best and biggest pumpkin. They even helped strap it on the pack horse.

* * *

Denerim mended apace. It was a muted Satinalia, but better than it might have been. They rode through the streets to occasional cheers, and to the greetings of numerous acquaintances. Dwarven skill had finished one of the Gate bridges. Dwarven engineers were worth every sovereign they demanded. Loghain pleasurably imagined the wonders they would work at the Peak.

"Wait! We're going _into_ the Palace?" Anders asked, anxious and curious and rather eager, once they were well within the courtyard, and grooms had come to take the horses...

"We live there—for now," Loghain told him. "The Warden Compound is there, though next spring we shall begin renovation to our fortress up in the Coast Range. Some Orlesians are in residence, but there is room enough for you."

"So—a Grey Warden?" Anders sighed. "It could be worse."

"You'll like it, once you start looking at it in the right way," Maude assured him.

Loghain paused. "Or you can walk away now."

"_Loghain!"_ Maude cried.

"Really?" Anders perked up. "Just…walk away?"

"Yes," Loghain said. He owed Maric this much. "You can walk away, and keep running from the Chantry on your own terms. We'll give you some provisions and you can be on your own."

"Of course, that would be an _awful_ mistake on your part…" Maude said, vibrating with sympathy.

"Oh, do come on, Anders," Morrigan expostulated. "'Tis late and chilly and starting to rain, and further talk is foolish. Either come in, or stay out and sleep in the gutter."

"_We're_ going to have hot baths," Maude told him, "and Cook will make us spiced wine, if I ask her. And little meat and mushroom pies. They are so good."

"A hot bath?" Anders considered. "Of course, I can heat a portion of a pond or a river…'

"—And then the Templars always come and ruin it for you," Maude said, eyes wide and compassionate.

"Meat pies with mushrooms?"

"And spiced wine," Maude reminded him.

"And a room of your own with a proper bed and your own bookshelves," Morrigan added. Loghain understood in a flash how much information that conveyed about her.

She laid a hand on the young man's arm, and suddenly and shockingly, an enticing smile bloomed on her lips. Loghain rolled his eyes. The lad had done all a man could, but that was just _unfair_…

Maude smiled up at Anders from his other side. "And you'll always have us…"

A shuffling moment, and then Anders was following them into the warmth and light of the Compound, looking about him, taking it all in. Maude and Morrigan were insufferably smug.

Loghain decided that he could not judge the lad too harshly. Suppose he had met those two women when he was young and on the run? They might not have had him with the hot bath—he had more spine than that-but definitely with the spiced wine. And with the hand, softly laid on his arm.

That idiot Constant met them cheerily. He was wearing a ridiculous Orlesian mask in honor of the holiday, and Loghain nearly cut him down on the spot. Maude clung to his sword arm instead, so Loghain was forced to listen to the man's congratulations on their new recruit.

"Kristoff is on patrol with five others," he told Loghain. "They heard that there were darkspawn stragglers in Osvin—"

"_Oswin,"_ Loghain corrected, unwilling to tolerate the deficiencies of Orlesian pronunciation, especially under the circumstances. Any fool knew that people in masks could not be trusted.

Maude said eagerly, "We need to perform the Joining right after we have something to eat."

And so it was arranged. There were indeed meat pies, and the spiced wine was warming and delicious. At least the boy would have had a good meal, if the worst happened. The Wardens in residence retired to the study with the polished round table.

Loghain stayed with Anders until all was ready, and then walked in with him. Maude, radiant and deadly, held an elaborate silver chalice in her hands. Morrigan was beside her, yellow eyes devouring their new recruit. The bloody Orlesians were still tricked out for the holiday.

"Masks off!" Loghain barked.

"It's _Satinalia,_" was the protest, but Maude looked at them, wistful and tenderly reproving, and the masks were hastily discarded. Not that it improved their sorry Orlesian faces, in Loghain's opinion, but at least it showed a modicum of respect for the occasion.

Maude uttered the ritual words in her lovely voice, and then held out the cup for Anders. He took it, sniffed, and then looked at the contents, obviously guessing what it must be.

He glanced over to Loghain, grimaced, and said, "All right, but if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes with a tattoo on my forehead...I'm blaming _you._"

* * *

_Happy Holidays, and thanks to my kind readers and reviewers: most especially to Shakespira, Eva Galana, Josie Lange, Amhran Comhrac, Nithu, Liso66, Chatoyant Tiger, Aoi24, callalili, Prisoner 24601, Sarah1281, fastforwamotion, Phygmalion, Zute, wayfaringpanda, Guile, wisecracknmama, Lehni, Enaid Aderyn, JackOfBladesX, Harmakhis, DemonChick344, Gene Dark, mutive, mille libri, WellspringCD, and Windchime68._

_I had to make some decisions about Anders' parentage, and my decisions are not necessarily ones I like. It sounds like Gaider is hinting that Alistair is Fiona's son. I don't think he's done a good job of making that psychologically plausible, but I may have to go with it. That Maric would allow a child of a woman he loved to suffer what Alistair did in his youth says absolutely horrible things about a man we are supposed to find likeable. Alistair could just as easily have been placed with a respectable, childless, freeholding couple and told nothing about his parentage, instead of being told that it was meaningless, and that he was unworthy of his father's love._

_Or he could have been placed with a reliable bann, as many noble bastards were. The secret of his birth could have been kept hidden, even from him, and he could have been raised to be a knight. Instead, Alistair was raised to be a second string to Arl Eamon's bow—just in case he might be needed._

_However, I am sticking with Anders' being Maric's son. He is just too much like Alistair and Maric in canon for it to be a coincidence. That he is also a mage, like Fiona, would make their relationship reasonable, but the timeline simply doesn't work._


	17. The Eternal Return

**The Keening Blade **

_"'Everything straight lies,' murmured the dwarf disdainfully. 'All truth is crooked, time itself is a circle.'"—_Friedrich Nietzsche, _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_

**Chapter 17: The Eternal Return**

There was a great difference between have _some_ gold, and having all the coin you could possibly want. At the moment, the Fereldan Wardens felt they were richer than the Maker himself.

The Orlesians were informed that the fortress was sound, and with some work would be livable. Loghain briefly showed Kristoff the plans, while Maude, who was so much better at getting on with the Orlesians, distracted Kristoff with talk the man's beautiful, faraway wife. Kristoff was engrossed in his patrols, and appeared to prefer living in Denerim anyway.

"Aura would like this city, I think," he told Maude, his eyes full of longing. "I do not think she is quite ready to rusticate in an isolated fortress."

All earnest concern, Maude nodded her agreement. "I think it's so _important_ that the Wardens maintain a presence in the capital. We need the people to _see_ us. I hope you write to Aura soon. She sounds charming. Very well then, the Warden Compound for maintaining relations with the Crown and people: Soldier's Peak for secrets and training-and of course a sound economic base. I'm quite looking forward to living there, but naturally that's because I'll be closer to my brother…"

Loghain smirked, pleased that Maude was sweet-talking the Orlesians into staying away from the Peak. The idea of Orlesians taking up residence in such a powerful fortress was deeply disturbing to him. Who knew what they would get up to, left to themselves? Better for them to remain in Denerim, with all eyes upon them…

They had said nothing to the Orlesians about the gold they had found. Morrigan had been told about the Wardens' Treasure, of course, almost as soon as it had been counted. While she had not danced with glee as Maude had, her yellow eyes had widened, and then had become thoughtful, almost calculating.

Anders was not told the exact sum, but was told to think seriously about how he would like to furnish his quarters at Soldier's Peak, and that, yes, he would have a room of his own there.

Meanwhile, Maude made her plans, and Loghain exerted whatever influence he had on her to rein her in.

Not that her ideas were outrageous, or in bad taste, though a black and white marble floor in the Great Hall would be fantastically expensive, and perhaps not set quite the martial tone they were aiming at. She had lists of furniture and supplies to hunt down, and was free to do as she liked with their own bedchamber, as long as the bed was sufficiently big and comfortable and he had a place for his armor and weapons.

And then she asked him questions he thought no woman would ever ask him again. It was sweet and disturbing and annoying: he had thought he was done with conversations of this sort.

"But what color would you like _best?_" she asked again. "What do you want to see when you open your eyes in the morning, and what do you want to see when you go to bed at night?"

"That green is fine. You told me that green is your favorite color."

"I _do_ think this is a lovely shade of green, and I'm so pleased that you remember my favorite color. Red is nice too. This brocade is wonderful. Feel it: no, _really._ Oh, _come on_, Loghain!"

"The place would look like an Orlesian brothel!"

"You don't know what an Orlesian brothel looks like, and neither do I. It would be splendid, but comfortable, too. We don't have to care what anybody else thinks. We should have everything just as we like. And if we do find it…stimulating…well, that's all to the good, don't you think?"

Half of the carpenters and cabinet-makers in Denerim had commissions from them: paneling and carved pillars and archways for the Great Hall; beds and chairs and tables and wardrobes and bookcases; new doors and new shutters; new floors that would replace the rotten and splintered wrecks that lay in wait to break ankles.

Glaziers were at work, and the dwarven masons who had stayed behind when the dwarven army had returned to Orzammar were creating new staircases and balustrades, based on Loghain's meticulous measurements. Rough stone pavement would be smoothed and improved. Walls would be replastered and whitewashed, and some would be paneled in sturdy sylvanwood. Maude had drawn up a plan to divide the second floor into six bedchambers, thinking that the space was wasted. The library would be enclosed, with a locking door and locking bookshelves for anything the Wardens wished to keep secret.

"And Andraste is going downstairs," she told him when they were alone. "That big chapel on the third floor is just ridiculous. We can put the statue by the first floor staircase, with candlestands for the faithful on either side. The workmen can dismantle that dais she's on and we'll have our council chamber there."

Loghain focused on the Peak's outside. Stables would rise from rubble, portcullises would be rebuilt, the walls repaired, the defenses sharpened.

Soldier's Peak was the greatest fortress in Ferelden. Loghain was determined that everyone permitted to see it would acknowledge it. By the time he was ready to ride out of Denerim on his journey back to Ostagar, he was as pleased as was rationally possible with the plans underway.

* * *

Loghain had sought out Anora, of course, the day after their arrival in Denerim. She looked very well, and seemed to think he looked well, too. She was wearing a very pretty new dress of soft blue velvet, and seemed physically and emotionally content to a degree that eased his heart. He informed her of their newest recruit. She invited the Wardens to dine at the royal table that very night.

Anders was kindly greeted by Alistair, and rather to Loghain's disappointment, the explosion of wonder and surprise did not take place. Alistair seemed to see no resemblance between himself and the tall blond mage at all. Anora looked at Anders very searchingly, and gave her father a nod of acknowledgment. Anders, in fact, looked more like Cailan than Alistair did.

Wynne was there of course, and greeted Anders with reserved warmth, tinged with condescension.

"I am so proud—so infinitely proud—to see you doing something worthy of your abilities, Anders," the older woman declared. "You were among the most talented of all my students, but so wayward and stubborn. How much time did you waste, I wonder, in those futile escape attempts?"

"Not a jot, Wynne," he shot back with defiant geniality. "Not a tittle! I wouldn't have missed a single one of those adventures, even the one which involved being dragged by a rope through half the Bannorn. I learned something new every time, and as evidence, I present myself, Warden Anders, a man who knows the back roads of Ferelden like no other mage, and is forever free of the Circle!"

Wynne passed that off as bravado, of course, and she and Anders talked long and quietly—evidently about some arcane issue of Healing, for their heads were together quite a bit during dinner. Loghain expected Morrigan, on Anders' other side, to be annoyed by his lack of attention to her, but it was obvious that she was discreetly eavesdropping, and found the subject of some interest. Loghain glanced down the table to gauge other responses to Anders' appearance.

The Orlesians had noticed something, and were whispering among themselves, but they certainly approved of Anders. Healers were valuable, and difficult to recruit.

* * *

Anders approved of the Warden Compound. Specifically, he approved of having a room of his own for the first time in his life. A proper room with a _door._

"I like my window seat best of all," was his affable declaration over breakfast one morning. "The 'seat' part is comfortable, of course, but the 'window' part is unique in my experience. I haven't had much experience with windows I could actually look through. Quite nice, really."

"'Tis unfortunate, then," said Morrigan, "that your tent will have none."

Anders sighed, poking at his porridge. "Are you sure that you want to go south?" he asked Loghain a bit plaintively. "Are you _sure_ you want to go live in tents and bathe in cold rivers? Could we take the cook with us when we go?"

"We could not," Loghain replied repressively. "She has bunions. And yes, we must go south and have a look at the point of origin of the Blight. As we wish to return with our report, a Healer seems to be a essential to our mission."

"It's going to be _fun_," Maude said, spooning her own porridge into a strange castle-shape, complete with flying buttresses. It bore an uncanny likeness to Soldier's Peak. "You have your very own horse—and he's very sweet and biddable. You know you like him."

Anders reluctantly conceded that he did. "I can cast Haste," he admitted. "We can be there and back and again much faster that way."

In Loghain's opinion, Maude had been pampering the mage shamelessly: teaching him to ride their fourth horse, a smooth-gaited gelding; providing him with new robes, new boots, a new staff. Now he had his own wand as a back-up weapon, cleverly hidden in his new steel bracers.

"I wish I'd mastered a useful shape," Anders complained. "I've been watching that raven that comes by for breadcrumbs pretty carefully, but I need more time…"

"You're a perfectly adorable cat," Maude consoled him. "And a splendid ratter."

Anders shuddered. "Don't remind me. I was in some sort of cat-induced frenzy."

Loghain snorted into his cider. Morrigan's suppressed chuckles exploded into merry laughter. Maude bit back her own laugh, dimpling.

"I'm sure it was a very nourishing rat. It looked so very fat and healthy. Don't be upset. We ate much worse things in the Deep Roads, didn't we, Morrigan? A nice clean rat would have been a treat."

"Very true," the witch agreed. "If we could eat deepstalker—hideous creatures with worm-like heads—you, in cat form, can eat a rat. I myself have eaten rats and found them quite digestible. I told you: you can only change into a creature you have observed minutely, and the only creature you seem to have thus observed is this Mister Wiggums being. Small and unimpressive to the human eye, perhaps: but mighty in his rat-killing proclivities. Perhaps on our journey south you will become very familiar with your horse."

"What a good idea! Another horse would be so very convenient!" Maude agreed. "I sure you'd be just as handsome as Little Blackie! And you could carry all the extra loot!"

"I am _not_ shape-shifting into a gelding!" Anders' voice rose. The girls laughed harder.

"Loghain, make them stop!"

* * *

More than a hint of autumn was in the air as they rode out through the newly-reconstructed Great Gate. Loghain was resigned to the shouts and acclaim on the way through Denerim, and left it to Maude to smile and wave and charm the citizenry. It was handy to have someone who could do that for him. Morrigan certainly did not bother. She had no regard whatever for people she did not know, and not much for those she did. Her impassive yellow gaze took in the scene, and then turned inward, reflecting, Loghain supposed, on the adventure before them.

The darkspawn had left traces on the West Road. One saw the curious totems, here and there. Most of the flayed and spitted bodies had rotted away, the bones sliding with a whispered rattle into the sheltering grass. Not all, alas, despite the busy efforts of hungry wildlife. A few trophies had been taken down by the kind and pitying hands of returning inhabitants: people determined to restore whatever could be restored.

There were even a few darkspawn left on the West Road, or near enough, at least, to sense the passage of Grey Wardens. These were dispatched with alacrity, wherever they were found.

"We really don't want to go so fast that the darkspawn can't catch up to us, Anders," Maude kindly explained, as she busily relieved the putrid corpses of anything of value. "We _want_ to draw them out and then kill then, because that makes things much nicer for the locals."

Anders opened his mouth to protest against touching the darkspawn because of the danger of Blight disease. Then he remembered that they were all immune, and that that was the point of being Grey Wardens after all.

He shut his mouth with a snap. "Oh. Right."

Loghain rolled his eyes at him. "You are, however, not _obligated_ to loot the darkspawn dead. Maude's hobby is a matter of taste."

"Good to know," Anders nodded. "I think I'll pass."

Maude swaggered back to them, tossing something from hand to hand. "Well, all the more for me! This is what you _passed_ on!" The heavy jeweled pendant was flashed before Anders' impressed gaze, and just as quickly was snatched away and deposited in the little bag on Maude's sword belt. "I think it's _wicked_ to leave beautiful things in the possession of disgusting darkspawn. So I never do."

She vaulted back into the saddle, her chestnut mare pawing the ground, on edge from the reek of the darkspawn.

Fighting darkspawn from horseback was an interesting challenge. Horses hated the smell, and their apparent instinct was to gallop away at top speed. With work and attention, however, Loghain and Maude were training the four horses to endure the darkspawn' scent and remain under control.

When mounted, one had a good vantage to shoot from. The horses themselves were lightly armored. With more training, they might be able to close with the monsters without throwing their riders into the middle of a melee. Their pack mule seemed to require no training at all: it was a surprisingly stoic beast, and when it encountered darkspawn, it simply put its ears back and bared enormous yellow teeth.

As they rode, Maude pulled out her travel journal, and noted down the darkspawn they had killed: how many and what kinds; how they were armed; what treasure they carried.

"I kept notes like this all through the Blight. They're back in Denerim. Maybe I'll write a book someday: an unexpurgated version for the Wardens and another one for the uninitiated. Lots of blood and thunder in both, of course. And treasure. People like to read about treasure. And dragons."

"And of course," Morrigan remarked, "'twill be full of the deathless romance of the Dragonslayer and his Young Warden. Do include the naughty bits."

"My lady!" Anders laughed. "I like the way you think! That's brilliant! Yes...include all the naughty bits, Maude, and the Chantry will ban it, which means that every priest and Templar in Thedas will buy a copy!"

Loghain grunted, unamused. Maude flashed him a wicked smile.

The little bands they came across were obviously stragglers from the horde that had swept north to Denerim. Some had lagged behind. Some had wandered too far from the road. Without the song of the Archdemon calling to them they were bewildered and aimless. They would target Grey Wardens, but Maude wondered if they were simply drawn to them by the Taint, and only attacked them once they saw they were not fellow darkspawn.

"This has been going on for over a thousand years, and it's like nobody knows anything. It's ridiculous! And those books at the Warden Compound aren't much help. They're mostly 'Yes, we are the Mighty Wardens. Here is a made-up picture of Brethil. Here is a made-up picture of Garahel.' Puff pieces about Warden heroes, but not a lot of useful information about _darkspawn!"_

They rode on down the road. In the distance a huge cloud of smoke rose up, grey and hazy. The wind blew the smell of it into their faces; it carried the remains of a blighted autumn and more than a hint of darkspawn.

Loghain spurred ahead of the rest and saw what was going on.

A wheat field, or what was left of it. The unharvested grain sagged in unwholesome heaps, black with Blight. Three men and woman were burning off the field, trying to kill the Blight and salvage the field for next spring.

Maude saw what they were doing, and cocked her head. "Do you suppose that will work? I don't know myself. I suppose it's rather important information, actually."

Morrigan, surprisingly, knew more than any of them. "Flemeth said that if 'tis burned off with a very hot fire as soon as possible, 'tis likely that the soil will yield again. The longer the Blight permeates the soil, the greater the damage."

The farmers had seen them, and were backing away nervously at the sight of four horsemen, a wardog, and a mule with an evil grin.

Maude pulled off her helmet and gave them a smile and a friendly wave. "Good day to you! We're Grey Wardens!"

No arguments from the peasantry, between the winged helmets and griffons on every conceivable surface. A brief discussion: assurances that they were doing the right thing, and that they needed to set fire to anything that showed any sign of Blight, including one man's beloved orchard. A discussion to be repeated over the course of the next few days, as they rode through South Reach.

"Of course," Maude sighed, "many won't do it. You know, if I had known two months ago what I know now, we would have burned everything we passed. Fires all over Ferelden. ..Why didn't Riordan say something?"

"He was distracted?" Morrigan suggested. "Perhaps we all were. Two months is not so bad. If we allowed the Blight to overwinter, the damage would be far greater."

Maude talked to the people coming back to what remained of South Reach. She was the persuasive one, after all. She was the one to told them what to look for, and what they must do about it.

"They didn't want to burn down their Chantry, but in the end they did," she told her fellow Wardens. "They'll still have quite a few people with Blight disease, but the word will spread. I made them burn down the place where we stayed too. It was showing signs…possibly that's how Leliana…well, anyhow…I hope we get to Lothering before any of the refugees return. We should burn the whole village down."

"I agree." Loghain remembered the Blighted ruin. Better that it all burn that condemn the survivors to sift through the wreckage for the rotting, tortured remains.

Now and then they passed a cart. Now and then they passed an overturned cart that had had the misfortune to encounter darkspawn stragglers. It was not surprising that there were not a great many people returning, so far. Both the mages had fire spells at their command, and they used them liberally.

"'Tis rather diverting, actually," Morrigan remarked. "One was always so very careful not to be noticed. How liberating to unleash this. The Lothering Chantry is mine."

"I _don't_ think so," Anders laughed. "I was once captured near Lothering. I can't wait to see it go up in flames."

It did not take long. Lothering was the same ruin they had seen on the march to Denerim. It stank less, now. Carefully, they found a clean area for the horses, and left them hobbled there.

Maude was all over the town, reminiscing. "Dane's Refuge," she said to Loghain, with a ghost of a sentimental sigh. "That was a nice tavern. That's where I first heard I was a traitor to the crown. Some men tried to arrest me, but I didn't let them, and afterward I told the survivor to take a message to you. Did you get it?"

"From Lothering?" Loghain shook his head, studying the patterns on the stones, like a blackened spider's web. "I don't recall it. What was the message?"

She smiled. "That you'd have to do better."

He snorted. "Somehow I can't see a soldier passing that on. He's probably in the Free Marches by now."

"Anora should send some ships to Kirkwall," Maude said, her train of thought veering wildly off course. "And invite the refugees to come home now the Blight is over. They might not be able to afford the return trip, and we don't want to lose so much of our population." She clambered over a collapsed fence. "See that? See that cage? That's where I met Sten! The Revered Mother had locked him up to die of thirst and starvation, or to be killed by the darkspawn. I didn't think that was at all nice, so I got him out and took him along."

There was nothing to stay for, other than to put a torch to the entire place. A pillar of smoke rose up behind them, like a monument to the dead. They turned south on the Imperial Highway. Between Lothering and Ostagar they saw almost nothing alive. To find healthy trees and plants they had to leave the Highway, and move down the small creek beds that wound toward the Korcari Wilds. Morrigan took wing and flew miles to find healthy forest, far from the track of the horde. Where the darkspawn had passed, there was only death and disease. The horses were unhappy, but not frantic, if they were careful not to stay in Blight-infested places too long.

Morrigan not only magically cleaned their water, but also insisted on boiling it. Anders was uncommonly solemn. No one sensed anything. They agreed to find Morrigan's former home first, before heading east to Ostagar.

"I confess I'm very curious to see where such a vision comes from," Anders told Morrigan.

"'Tis a hut," Morrigan said flatly. "A decrepit hut on the verge of a swamp. 'Tis grubby and damp and unwholesome. I shall search it for the books I want, and then I hope never to lay eyes on the place again!"

They were careful to travel only when there was sufficient light for the horses to pick their way through the marshes. Loghain had once visited Flemeth's house, long ago, but had no memory whatever of the country they passed.

"You know, Morrigan," Maude began, her head cocked in thought. "This hadn't occurred to me before, but you might find the place rather…distressing. Aside from the fact that you grew up there, of course. Flemeth…well…her remains are there…or at least her dragon-shape remains. Up on that that high ground near the cottage. I just thought I should warn you."

"'Tis a hut, a miserable _hut._ Calling it a 'cottage' is gross flattery. I care not for a pile of dragon bones: I have seen enough of them. I shall take what is mine, and be gone."

Ranger trotted ahead of them, nose to the ground. Loghain trusted the dog to keep them away from quicksand, but would be as glad as Morrigan when they put the place behind them.

A gap in the hills, water on the horizon, and then the stump of a bare, ruined tower rising up abruptly from the landscape. Leaning against it was a tumbledown collection of boards: the lair of the dreaded Witch of the Wilds. Maude stood in her stirrups, and then came to a stop.

"Oh, dear," she whispered to Loghain. "That's not good. That's not good at all."

Morrigan scanned the scene, and then gave Maude an angry glance. "You swore to me you killed her!"

The high ground by the hut was bare of all but straggling weeds. Even large scavengers could not have cleared all the bones of a High Dragon from the spot.

"I did!" Maude protested. "Sten was burned really badly! You saw him yourself. The dragon was certainly dead, because we poked it quite a bit, being rather out of sorts due to all the trouble it put us through. And I found the key to the hut and got into the chest and brought back your robes and the grimoire and everything! The dragon was _dead._ I've killed lots of dragons, and I _know!"_

Loghain blew out a breath. "The old woman had her tricks, certainly. Do you want to go on, or do you want to leave right now!"

"I shall go on," Morrigan hissed furiously. "If she is there, I shall kill her myself!"

"That's the spirit!" Maude seconded loyally. "Still—you stay with the horses, and I'll go into the hut and check it out first."

"_I'll_ check out the hut," Loghain insisted.

They both did. Loghain kicked the door in, and Maude darted past him, swift and deadly. It was quite empty, but empty huts generally do not have cheerful fires crackling on the hearth. The floor was littered with books and papers.

"Not good," Maude murmured. "Definitely not good."

Loghain stepped out. "Morrigan! We see nothing here, but someone has been here long enough to light a fire and make a search. Collect your things and we'll leave within the hour. Maude, help her, and don't dawdle!"

Morrigan slid down and hurried inside. The two women left the door open and began going through the contents of the house at a great rate. Loghain climbed the slope to examine the site. Something gleamed white in the dry and sere vegetation. He stooped to collect it, and then studied it carefully.

"Something interesting?" called Anders.

Loghain held it up. "A tooth."

"Maker's Blood!" Anders stared in horror. "It's like a dagger!"

"Thicker, really."

More examination yielded a dozen scales, another tooth, and part of a broken claw. _Something_ had happened here. Loghain walked down and showed his finds to the two women.

"See!" Maude said, relieved. "We really did have quite a battle, Morrigan!"

"I believe you," the witch admitted. "I also believe that Flemeth tricked you somehow."

"Then I'll kill her again," Maude said fiercely. "I don't allow people to trick me. You know the old saying, _'Fool me once, prepare to die!'"_

"Actually, Maude," Anders interjected, "I believe the correct saying is—"

Morrigan raised her brows at him in warning.

"…oh…right…"

The books and other oddities were packed, settled onto the mule, and they were off again. Maude insisted on keeping the tooth and other dragon remains, because they were valuable. Morrigan agreed, because bits of Flemeth could be valuable for sound magical reasons: most notably, of course, for defense against Flemeth herself.

"Let's not come here again," Maude suggested. "Even _I_ think it's creepy. At least Morrigan got her books."

"Those must be some books," Anders hinted to Morrigan. "Mind if I have a look?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps I shall permit such a liberty, when it pleases me."

* * *

"So that's the Tower of Ishal," Anders considered. The landmark was grey and misty, even in broad midday: a distant ghostly spire. "The old Tevinters certainly loved their towers. Actually the modern ones still do. I've heard that in Minrathous—"

"Not _now,"_ Loghain growled.

Morrigan caught Anders' eye, and gave her head a little shake. The mage grimaced and desisted.

Maude slowed her horse, pointing ahead. "_I_ hadn't hoped to see _that_ place again, but there it is! Loghain, I want to go all the way to the top and show you that ogre, or whatever bits of it are left! Then you'll know I wasn't just taking a nap the night of the battle."

"If we must." He had expected as much, and was resigned to it.

"I don't sense anything at all," Maude said, frowning. "Nothing. Maybe they're all gone."

That was just too optimistic for Loghain's tastes. "They can't _all_ be gone."

"I didn't mean all gone, as in '_all darkspawn gone for good!'" _Maude rolled her eyes. "Though that would be nice. I'm just saying I'm not sensing anything yet." She called out to Ranger. "Am I right?"

The dog yipped agreement back at her.

"See!" She turned in her saddle to Anders. "So here is glorious Ostagar. There's an old Grey Warden outpost not far from here, but it's only a ruin. That's where I met Morrigan, about a hundred years ago!"

"And you're both so well preserved!" Anders laughed.

"It was hardly a _hundred_ years ago," Morrigan pointed out. "And I asked you if you were a scavenger. You claimed you were not."

"Well, I wasn't scavenging _there!"_ Maude shot back. "That was Grey Warden property and I had every right to be there! I did, however, do a bit of scavenging on the way, of course…"

"Stop," Loghain ordered. "I don't want to ride the horses into Ostagar. We'll find a place to hide them, and walk in. We'll be less conspicuous that way."

"I like the whole 'less conspicuous' concept," Anders agreed.

They swung wide and approached the ruins from the southwest. With Morrigan flying ahead, they found a glen, sheltered among some hills, where the darkspawn had not penetrated—or not penetrated long enough to despoil. A spring bubbled from the rock, trickling bright and chilly toward the marshes. They tethered the horses there, where the beasts could reach the water and graze in peace.

"We'll take as little with us as possible: just the one bag, Maude, if you please," Loghain said sternly. We're here for reconnaissance, not for treasure-hunting."

"But we _may_ find treasure," Maude murmured. "We should all take a bag, just in case. _You_ did."

It was true, of course. "I'm not looking for _treasure,"_ Loghain replied tersely.

There was something he was looking for, if it was still to be found. Darkspawn had little skill with locks. They might bash a chest open, if the fancy struck their feeble minds, but they did not pick locks. He had never seen an example of them taking the trouble to open a massive chest. There was one chest in Ostagar he wanted to find, and there was a strong possibility it was still exactly where Cailan had had it bestowed, so long ago…

They followed the stream, and then turned north, climbing the foothills that rose toward Ostagar like vast steps. As they moved up past the trees, Ostagar revealed itself.

"I never thought I'd see this place," Anders breathed. "It's enormous! I'd heard of the Tower of Ishal, but it's so much more."

"True." Morrigan nodded. "Ostagar is ancient. It was fortress and watchtower and temple complex all in one, divided in half by Ostagar Valley. A vast stone bridge connects the two parts. I came here often as a child, before the darkspawn spoiled it all."

Maude shook her head. "Ostagar _is _ancient. It will outlive the Blight and the Taint. Someday it will be rebuilt. Ferelden could use a sound fortress in the south."

"True," Loghain agreed. "I had some ideas when I was last here…"

Maude stopped suddenly, eyes wide and watchful.

"There now," she whispered. "Feel that?"

Something was sawing on his ragged nerve endings.

Anders took a quick breath. "Is that—"

"Indeed it is," confirmed Morrigan, her voice low. "And there they are!"

Not many, and not very powerful, but ugly as ever. The Wardens dispatched them without hesitation, and moved on, finding themselves stepping into a forest of pillars and fallen stone.

It was easy to integrate Anders into their battle tactics. He was to stay behind, to remain watchful for injuries, and to intervene with long-distance spells as needed. He had enough of those and to spare, Loghain discovered. He could indeed shoot lightning, and very accurately.

They passed a large, overturned table, decaying under the elements. With a start Loghain remembered that this was the very table where he and Cailan had quarreled over strategy; where Duncan had mentioned the possibility of the Archdemon appearing—ridiculous scare-mongering, Loghain had thought at the time; where the girl had looked on, dark eyes wide and bewildered and lost.

He glanced at Maude. He had never seen that expression since—except when she assumed it for nefarious purposes. Whatever had befallen her had filled her brimful with a terrible certainty. Fergus had noted that she had changed. What would her own parents think of her now?

"Emissary," she whispered, pointing. "Don't bark, Ranger. We'll step out and get them—_now!"_

A powerful darkspawn and its minions shortly lay before them. The big darkspawn wore Cailan's helmet. It was an image so disturbing that Loghain was forced to look away briefly. Maude immediately took possession of said helmet, of course, tugging it away from the gruesome, scabby head.

"It that what you're here for?" Loghain asked harshly. "To collect every piece of gold-painted tin you can find?"

"Don't exaggerate!" she rebuked him. "It's not tin, and you know it! It's lovely armor, and the darkspawn don't get to keep lovely things. It's against my principles. They must have divided up the set as trophies. No... wait...I need to go there…"

They went up some stairs and then beyond into the ruins of a temple, its roof long gone, and the stained marble floor open to the sky.

"I became a Warden here," Maude said, looking out over the valley of Ostagar. She peered about, pushing straggling vegetation away with her boot. There were broken vials, a discarded backpack, a gleam of metal.

Maude swooped down, and rose with a silver chalice in her hands.

"He left it here! I can't believe it!"

"That's a Joining chalice?" Anders asked, looking it over. "Ew, it wasn't washed afterward, was it?"

Maude thrust it into her bag. "I'm keeping this! It's historical…and silver!"

Then she had to regale Anders and Morrigan with the tale of her Joining, and show them the exact spot where one recruit died of darkspawn poisoning and the other was murdered by Duncan.

Anders interrupted her to ask, "So that means, I take it, that had I experienced cold feet at my Joining I would have had my throat cut?"

"It would have been over before you knew it," Maude assured him earnestly. "You wouldn't have felt a thing!"

"That's…nice to know…I think."

Morrigan laughed at him.

The old upper camp was a haunt of darkspawn, but the Wardens encountered no more than twenty, and the attacks were not coordinated, and posed no serious threat. That changed when they met another of those strange and powerful darkspawn, not unlike the being they encountered on their march to Denerim. It, too, required quite a bit of killing, and it, too, possessed part of Cailan's armor.

The place stank of darkspawn waste and Taint, but was not as fouled as Loghain had expected. Once the battle was over, either the darkspawn had simply moved on, for the most part, or had retreated underground to gather for the next onslaught.

It was possible to remember where his own tent had been pitched, though no traces of it remained. From there, it was easy enough to determine where Cailan's had stood. And there his goal stood, the bronze hinges green with verdigris, the shining wood dull with weather…

"Ha!"

"What _'ha?'"_ Maude wondered, following him. "Ooo! A chest!"

"The Royal Arms Chest!" Loghain said triumphantly. "Cailan kept his private correspondence and his favorite trinkets there. Quick, Maude, open it!"

She gazed at him, not quite laughing. "You _want_ me to pick a lock? You want me to break into Cailan's Holy of Holies?"

"Yes, I do want that!" he said impatiently, and glowered at the mages snickering in the background.

With a flourish, Maude produced her lockpicks and made a show of flexing her fingers. Loghain tapped his foot impatiently, but really it did not take long at all. He set down his own weapon, and withdrew the enchanted dragonbone sword lying within, overwhelmed with memory.

"A pretty trinket indeed, fit for a king!" admired Morrigan.

"His sword?" asked Anders, puzzled. "But why…?

Maude told him softly, "That's King Maric's sword." She put her hand gently on Loghain shoulder.

He was hardly aware of her as gripped the hilt until his knuckles complained. He sneered, "Cailan brought his daddy's sword along. Said he was saving it for the Archdemon!"

"Did he really?" asked Maude, with quick interest. "That means he had no idea how to actually kill the Archdemon. I think Duncan was wrong not to tell him. How could anyone make proper plans without that information? Riordan told me that sometimes the Wardens do confide their secrets in trustworthy people, when it's necessary. With only two dozen Wardens at his disposal, he certainly should have told you and the King."

"Yes," Loghain said dully. "He should have." He did not want to waste time imagining what would have happened had he actually had in his possession sufficient information to formulate a effective strategy against the darkspawn. He had spent over a year reliving the Battle of Ostagar and second-guessing himself: wondering what would have happened if he had charged—even if too late to save the King; wondering if he should have simply knocked Cailan in the head, claimed the King was ill, and taken command himself; wondering if he could have persuaded Cailan to dig in and fight the battle defensively; wondering if Uldred's idea for the signal would have worked; wondering why he allowed the Revered Mother to be present at a council of war.

What he did not wonder about was why he had chosen the Grey Wardens as scapegoats for the defeat. He had been bitterly angry at Cailan and his favorites in the aftermath of Ostagar. An explanation was needed: something simple that could be spread quickly and easily. He could not blame Cailan publicly, though the King's stubborn idiocy was the main cause of the disaster, but he could vent his wrath on Duncan and Grey Wardens, who had filled Cailan's head with absurd notions of their invincibility. For a King to rush out, sword in hand, against a superior force of thousands of monsters was simply insane. Cailan, however, had truly believed that nothing could happen to him while Duncan was at his side.

Grey Wardens were exceptional warriors. At Ostagar they had been used stupidly. Had Loghain known what he needed to know, he would understood that it was the Army's duty to keep the darkspawn at bay until the Archdemon showed itself and could be confronted by the Wardens. Their strategy at Ostagar had been hopelessly backward—almost perverse.

Maude was looking concerned. He was brooding again, and must stop. Only this moment mattered. He had returned to this place, and had found something of value, at least. And then there was the casket that contained Cailan's private correspondence. Maude needed to unlock that as well…

* * *

Morrigan carefully pressed her fingertips to her ears. "Loghain! You need not tell the world!"

Anders had backed away. "Does he get like this often?"

"Loghain! Loghain!" Maude cooed disarmingly. "Yes, it's an absolute scandal, but he's dead! His plots died with him!"

"_That cheating bastard! _Do you see this_?"_ Loghain roared, waving the offending letters before Maude's startled nose. "Do you _see_ the familiar tone with which the Empress writes to him, as if my daughter were not already his wife?"

"Yes, yes, I see," she soothed him. "With Eamon's letters taken into consideration—"

"Eamon's letters are an outrage!"

"—I complete agree! It does seem that there was something very sinister underway. It's hard to believe that Cailan would be stupid enough to _marry_ Empress Celene, but-"

"He could strut about and call himself 'Emperor,' after having sold us all to the Orlesians!"

"Even if he had wanted to, I can't see him getting away with it," Maude said, her voice vibrating with empathy. "He would have had to divorce Anora, and you wouldn't have put up with that—and many others wouldn't have either! And then—"

"That's what those legions of chevaliers were for!" he fumed, his fury calming a little. Cailan _was_ dead, and none of this would ever come to pass…

"I think you're absolutely _right_," Maude murmured persuasively, removing her gauntlet so she could touch his cheek. "A horrid, wicked plot right under our noses! But it didn't happen! I suppose leaving Ferelden to the Blight was Celene's Plan B. That didn't happen either. We win! We must celebrate our victory back in camp tonight!"

"Yes…victory…" He was growing calmer, his heart overflowing with pleased contempt at foiling Cailan's treachery. He had won. Ferelden was safe and independent, despite the malice of its countless enemies and the criminal imbecility of its former king. He glanced over to the mages. Morrigan was nudging Anders discreetly. Anders covered his mouth with his hand. They, too, must be moved and horrified at the scope of the conspiracy against their homeland. Ranger pressed comfortingly against his legs.

"We have to go fight the darkspawn now," Maude urged him sweetly. "We'll leave Maric's sword with Cailan's armor and come back and fetch it all later, if we can. Why don't we put those letters in my bag…?"

"I'll keep them," he grunted, feeling more himself. That stupid boy! Maude was right: Cailan could never have pulled it off, not even with Eamon behind him. Even if Bryce Cousland was in with the Orlesians—which Howe had believed, but Loghain had the sense never to suggest to Maude—the majority of the Landsmeet would have stood with Loghain. There would have been civil war, of course, but the possibility of Ferelden quietly uniting with Orlais had been slim at best. Now, there was no possibility at all. His daughter was still the queen of Ferelden. The Blight had been defeated. True, Eamon Guerrin was chancellor, but something might be done about that. Life was not so bad, if one looked at it the proper way…

He met the next darkspawn they encountered with grim satisfaction and his very best swordsmanship.

"Valley or bridge?" he asked afterward.

"Oh, the bridge, definitely," Maude insisted. "We need to go to the Tower of Ishal so you can see my ogre."

"Maude, I _believe_ your story about the ogre."

"I don't want you to believe it! I want you to know it's _true!_"

The bridge that spanned the gorge and connected the two halves of the old outpost was a marvel of engineering. It was also where they found Cailan, or what was left of him.

It was certainly Cailan, though a year and a half had done him no favors. He had been put on grotesque display by the darkspawn: draped over the huge statue that stood watch in the middle of the bridge.

Ranger whined pitifully. Anders examined the body with professional interest.

"Preservation spells. Crude, but they're there. He should have been bones by now, out in the weather. Yes, definitely the same spells that are used on the dead when they need to look nice when they're lying in state. I didn't know the darkspawn could command that level of magic. Necromancy is pretty complicated."

"We should take him down," Maude murmured, behind Loghain.

Cailan's guileless blue eyes were gone, of course. Gone to the darkspawn, gone to the ravens, gone to remorseless time. There was still something of the small boy Loghain had helped raise—so very badly, as it turned out. Nonetheless, this silly young man had once been dear to him, and Anora had loved him…

"He may have been a fool," Loghain grated out, "but he doesn't deserve to be strung up like this. We can't do anything about it now. Let's see if we can clear out enough of the darkspawn to take him down before we go."

* * *

"Definitely something with necromantic powers," Anders said, looking at the reanimated human corpses that had attacked them.

"They are not unlike the walking dead that attacked us at Redcliffe—or at Soldier's Peak, for that matter," considered Morrigan. "Strong, but stupid."

"Er—you have walking dead at Soldier's Peak?" asked Anders.

"Not anymore," Maude assured him. "We'll dispose of these, too. In fact, let's be sure to incinerate everything we killed or anything that looks cohesive enough to attack us. I think that would be a very good idea."

It was a good idea, and they did so as they moved across the bridge and into a very unpleasant fight that involved traps, ballistae, and yet another powerful darkspawn. Maude received a nasty stab wound in the back of her leg and they had to rest for some time until the healing was complete.

Loghain hated it when Maude was wounded. She was always perfectly brave about it, but it would just be easier on his nerves if he could take the wound himself.

They had found yet more of Cailan's armor. It was entirely possible that they would have the full set by the time they had explored the remains of Ostagar. What, then, would they do with it?

"Now for Ishal—and my ogre!" Maude said, eyes shining. "Yes, yes, I'm fine! I don't hurt a bit!"

* * *

A heavy door swung open and the darkspawn were leaping out at them, gibbering. There were nearly three dozen darkspawn on the ground floor, and a pit leading down into some lower chambers.

Loghain remembered that some lower chambers had been found just before the battle, and that he had ordered the Tower closed and the chambers to be thoroughly examined. Some idiot had not done his job. Perhaps that idiot was the one he should be blaming for the debacle.

"The Tower was completely infiltrated by the time you arrived, you said?' he asked Maude.

"Yes—completely. So completely that I think the darkspawn must have attacked there first. Only a handful of soldiers had held out in the outer grounds. We found no one alive inside but darkspawn—oh, wait—that's a fib. We found three mabari in cages. I set them on the darkspawn and they were a big help."

Ranger agreed. They were inferior dogs, but not incapable of doing their duty.

Loghain stared at the opening at their feet. The pit was tempting. Were there more darkspawn down there? He could sense something, but it was vague…

"They've crawled back in their hole. Let's take the fight to them!"

"Upstairs first," Maude insisted, tugging on his arm. "You have to see my _ogre_. Besides," she coaxed. "if they got into the lower chambers, it must be because they tunneled in, and the tunnel could take us all sorts of places. Let's go upstairs first and get that done. At least we'll make sure no one can sneak up on us from the upper floors!"

Loghain let her have her way, though his flesh crawled at the idea of being trapped at the top of the Tower, with a horde of darkspawn pounding up the stairs. It could certainly happen. It had happened to Maude, after all.

But they found nothing but bones. Darkspawn, of course, preferred the _dark._ Left to themselves, they had no apparent desire to climb high towers and live in windowed, sunny chambers. Maude found some bits of treasure, and she was able to show off the heavy skeleton of her very first ogre with considerable pride; but they met no resistance.

She also showed them where she had really and truly lit the signal fire, just as she was supposed to; and then ran to the west side of the tower, where the wall had been smashed in.

"That must be where Flemeth made her entrance," Maude said to Morrigan. "I always wondered how she could get through these little windows in the shape of a giant bird."

"A giant bird," Anders murmured dreamily. He saw Loghain staring and laughed. "I think a giant bird would be brilliant! There must be giant birds, after all, if a shape-shifter has to observe something in order to be it. So there must be giant birds. Or was she a griffon?"

"That makes sense!" Maude exclaimed, very pleased with Anders. "Flemeth was old enough to remember griffons! Maybe she really did turn into one and snatch Alistair and me away. So I _did_ get to fly with a griffon—but I don't remember it," she concluded, a bit sadly. "Maybe if you look at really good illustrations you could manage a griffon, Anders."

Morrigan huffed indignantly. "'Tis quite impossible! Shape-shifting from _illustrations._.."

* * *

The tunnels were full of giant spiders. Loghain disliked spiders, and had, from the first time he had traveled the Deep Roads as a young man. Katriel, that treacherous elf bitch who seduced Maric, had been badly bitten in a fight, and Loghain regretted to this day that he had done the decent thing and sucked the poison out. He could now count on one hand the people who would have the benefit of his poison-sucking abilities in future: Anora, of course, and Maude; Morrigan, because Maude would be furious if he did not, and Morrigan was a very useful mage with extremely beautiful skin; Anders, because you had to keep your Healer alive; and Cauthrien, if Cauthrien was ever so careless and irresponsible as to allow herself to be bitten by a spider. Which she would not be. The rest could just die.

There were a few darkspawn down there, but not really very many. The interesting thing was that was indeed a tunnel leading out of the lower chambers, and even more interesting was where that tunnel led.

They stepped out into Ostagar Valley, far below the upper camp, and found themselves on the old killing ground. The cold earth crunched underfoot, as they walked on the bones of the royal army.

"That's…interesting…" Maude remarked, seeing the well-preserved corpse of an ogre stretched out before them, its mighty chest transfixed with a sword and a dagger. "Is it…dead? Or unconscious?"

Anders peered at it cautiously. "Oh, it's really most sincerely dead. Preserved. And I think…oh, _shit!"_

It was rising, opening its eyes, lifting its trunk-like arms in challenge. Morrigan was scrambling to freeze it, and the undead thing resisted it without effort as it broke into a lumbering run.

Maude looked beyond it and screeched, "There it is, the little bastard! Anders, that's the Necromancer isn't it?"

"Maybe…rather _busy,_ right now!"

Loghain had killed enough ogres by now to know that this one was much faster and stronger than it ought to be. Maude was running down the valley at top speed, Ranger at her side, toward a small figure that appeared to be a genlock emissary. Blue mist rose from the darkspawn's hands. Not good. Obviously a more powerful spellcaster than they had met before.

Anders stumbled and went down, rolling away from the gigantic feet. Morrigan shrieked in rage and summoned enough power to slow the ogre, and then sent a bludgeon of magical power at it. Loghain hacked at it with the Keening Blade, which had slain an Archdemon, and had never yet failed him. Maude would have to look after herself.

More walking dead were attacking, as they closed with the ogre: mindless bodies of decent men and women who had died at Ostagar. Loghain shared a moment of Maude's rage at the twisted creature that made use of them.

The ogre tottered, and Loghain smashed against him, knocking the creature off-balance. Its head sagged, and Loghain hacked at the offered neck, tearing it open. To his surprise, there was no spurt of ichor. This thing really was dead, and among them they killed it again.

Maude and the Necromancer were fifty yards away, two little figures engaged in furious combat. Loghain knocked one of the shambling dead aside, and set off at a run. The girl was dodging spells and slashing at the creature when she suddenly stopped, locked in place.

Whatever the creature was doing to her, it must be painful. He could see her face distort in agony, and he bellowed out a challenge to the foul little monster, who hardly looked his way, as it tried to fend off Ranger's lunges.

Fury carried Loghain like wings. He outran the two mages and barreled into the emissary, knocking the creature down. Ranger snarled in triumph, and crushed the thing's face in his massive jaws. The spell was broken, and Maude shook herself, with a rueful laugh.

"Ouch. Nasty thing. Don't eat him, Ranger! He'll give you terrible indigestion!"

The mages were interested in the creature. While it looked much like any other genlock spellcaster, its level of magic had been far superior. "They are not identical," Morrigan said to Anders. "Whatever else we learned during the Battle of Denerim, we learned that there are many variations amongst the darkspawn. Most are not sentient, but 'tis clear that some are-at least to a certain extent. This creature...was not simply a being of mindless malice. It could use complex magics. It could make plans and execute them. It could raise thralls to do its bidding."

Maude relieved it of the last piece of Cailan's armor. "Well, it won't be doing any of those things anymore. Burn it."

They did, and left it behind, heading back to the upper camp. Anders was about to burn the remains of the resurrected ogre, when Maude grabbed his arm.

"Oh!" she whooped, and pulled the hilts of the weapons from the rotting carcass. "I know these blades! These are Duncan's! This is so exciting! Now you can burn it, Anders."

"I thought you didn't care much for Duncan," Loghain growled. Behind them the ogre burned blue, his undead flesh reacting oddly to the mage fire.

Maude briefly admired the pretty color, and then said, "Duncan tried to be as nice as he could to me—given the circumstances—and he's dead, and I'm not very angry with him at the moment, especially now that I've got my hands on these! Aren't they lovely!"

Loghain granted that they were decent weapons—very decent. "The King may want them."

"Well, too bad! These are Warden weapons. A Warden gets to carry them. Anders, you should learn how to use a dagger, at the very least—"

The blond mage shook his head. "I can just imagine what His Majesty would say. Not a good idea. I'm sure we'll find a sword and dagger man good enough for them, but it won't be me."

* * *

Loghain was perfectly willing to leave Cailan's body for the wolves, but Maude gently pointed out that their clever and powerful companions could incinerate it without the trouble and effort of building a pyre. Thus, Maric's son was laid out on a little rise, and Maude hastily gathered some autumn flowers and bright leaves to put in his folded hands. They stood back, and within minutes, the lively boy who had become a fatally foolish man was enveloped in flame.

It took some time to do the job properly. Maude whispered praise and thanks to the mages when all that remained was white ash and a few lumps of charred bone. Then she produced a little jar from her pack, dumped out the contents—

"—Honeygrass tea," she explained. "I never know when I'll want some."

-and set about brushing what she could of the ashes into the jar.

"Just what are you going to do with that?" Loghain managed.

"I'll see if Anora wants it. It might give her a bit of closure."

"Such a sentimentalist!" scoffed Morrigan.

Anders disagreed, "I think that's very sweet!"

"Thank you, Anders." Maude gave the mage a nod. "I'm so glad someone understands!"

"Just—don't make any tea, all right?" he asked, all wide-eyed innocence. "I wouldn't want you to forget what's in that jar, and—"

Morrigan's delighted laughter rang through the hills. A thud, and Anders winced, holding his stomach. Loghain thought he was shamming. Maude could hit _much_ harder than that.

"Just for that, you'll help me carry the armor, Anders!"

Loghain slung Maric's sword over his shoulder. He had this much of his old friend, at least. His hand briefly strayed to his breastplate, thinking of the letters hidden inside.

When he returned to Denerim, he would have to decide if anything needed to be done about Eamon. Eamon had plotted against his daughter-more than once, in fact. If the arl were up to his old tricks, Loghain would do what he must to protect Anora. Maude would probably be glad to help. For the moment, however, they had their own lives to live and their own adventures to seek...

And their victory over the Orlesians to celebrate.

* * *

_Thanks to my kind reviewers: Josie Lange, Shakespira, Nithu, wayfaringpanda, Sarah1281, Amhran Comhrac, Enaid Aderyn, Wedger, Aoi24, Zute, Lehni, callalili, Gene Dark, Prisoner 24601, JackOfBladesX, Fastforwarmotion, Windchime68, Liso66, hyperfuzzy, mutive, Phygmalion, Reyavie, Eva Galana, mille libri, Piceron, and Marching Madly Onward. I appreciate all your critiques and insights!_

_As I pointed out to some of you, it really doesn't matter if Anders actually is Maric's son or not: what matters is that Loghain thinks he is, and regards him as a fresh start in getting on with his old friend's sons. No one could ever prove it one way or another, and as Anders is a mage, it makes absolutely no difference, politically speaking._

_As to Flemeth. In the game Witch Hunt, the site of the battle against Flemeth the Shape-Shifter is bare of dragon bones. _


	18. The Cat's Meow

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 18**: **The Cat's Meow**

Without Morrigan's shape-shifting talents, it would have taken much longer to find the source of the Blight.

She, however, could skim over the landscape, winged and feathered, soaring above the inhospitable landscape of marshes and rugged hills. They followed her, heading southeast, as she swung out in widening probes to see Where It All Began.

Their mule had accepted the additional load of Cailan's armor, Maric's sword, and the odds and ends of treasure from Ostagar with resigned contempt. Loghain had named the beast Meghren. At that, it was a bit unfair to the beast, who was worth a hundred of that Orlesian usurper that Maric had killed.

On the second day, their journey took them to the ruins of the old Grey Warden outpost. They were well prepared for the handful of darkspawn huddled there, and after dispatching them, wandered the rubble.

"Not much to look at," Anders observed.

"It has a nice staircase," Maude said. "but not much else."

Loghain disagreed. "There's a lot of usable building stone here." In his mind's eye, he imagined it already. ""With properly skilled masons, it might be possible to cannibalize the old tower, and make a newer, smaller fort. Not something to do right away, of course, but later perhaps…"

On the third day, they found the great wound in the earth that had birthed the horde, and then the Archdemon. It was not a cave, or a tunnel, but a huge gaping hole, slanting down steeply to allow access to the world above. Ranger sniffed at it, and growled.

"You're right," Maude said, a little daunted at the size of the abyss before them. "We knew it had to be big. Even with its wings folded back, the Archdemon needed huge passages to squeeze through."

Morrigan grimaced, peering over the edge. "I sense that there is a great deal of…activity down below. I presume the point of this expedition is to seal this exit. That might prove difficult."

"Sealing _this?"_ Loghain snorted. "Yes. I think we must go down, and see if there is a narrower passage that can be collapsed."

Maude had already dismounted, and was tying her horse to some scrub. "All right then! We go in, and knock the house down!"

She went down on one knee, and looked Ranger in the eyes, giving him a good ear-scratching. "Listen!" she said firmly. "We going to be scrambling over nasty sharp rocks and making loud, banging noises. You'd hate it. I really need you to stay here and guard the horses—and Meghren, too, though he seems able to take care of himself. Speaking of whom…"

There were shock bombs in one of the packs loaded on the mule. She opened the pack. and pulled out the carefully-stowed bag. Then she grinned at Loghain. "I do love blowing things up!"

There were darkspawn to fight, but they did not have to go more than a hundred yards to find a place where the cavern roof dipped a bit lower. Huge boulders protruded from the ceiling, and they decided that a few judicious fireballs might bring it all down.

Morrigan used an earthshaking spell to loosen the rock. Loghain glanced about warily, not liking the idea of being buried along with the darkspawn. The cavern rumbled, and far away he could sense masses of darkspawn, swarming angrily, their nests disturbed.

Maude and Loghain piled their shockbombs at what appeared to be a weak point, and then backed away up the cavern. Then Morrigan and Anders unleashed their magic.

It took some time, and made them rather tired. Part of the roof further down collapsed after the third try, and after the fifth, the roof above the Wardens began complaining, little showers of dust sifting over them haphazardly.

"I really think we should move back," Anders suggested. _"A lot."_

They backed away, and Morrigan shook the earth once more. Gravel rattled down, and rocks tumbled. Anders gathered himself and hurled another fireball. There was an ominous sense of shifting…

Loghain grabbed Maude's arm and hurried her back up the shaft. The mages paused for a moment and then fled, too. Anders bounded past, a ginger blur of speed, cat legs stretched out nearly parallel to the sleek body.

Morrigan flickered away, strong wings brushing Loghain's helmet. She dipped and soared, and was a black dot in the bright mouth of the shaft within seconds.

Rocks pinged at Loghain's armor, and he ran faster, dodging a boulder. The angry stone complained, with a roar of missiles and debris, and a fog of dust rose as the ground transformed.

Maude had long since taken to her heels, and Loghain was not three steps behind her. They burst out into the light, still running, just ahead of the eager grip of the earth. Morrigan had taken refuge at the top of a nearby tree, but Anders waited for them just at the lip of the chasm, one paw outstretched anxiously. Ranger barked frantically, darting back and forth. Behind them the ground slumped inward with a thundering sigh.

"I'm fine, Ranger," Maude assured the dog with a pat. "And-oh, Mister Wiggums!" she laughed at Anders. "Mission accomplished! That was rather fun, I thought. Of course, if the darkspawn wanted to, they could dig right up through that dirt in a few months."

"Without an Archdemon to lead them, they're unlikely to want to," Loghain shrugged, as much to reassure himself as the others. They really would have to bring some dwarven craftsmen here to seal the shaft properly, but at least darkspawn could not idly wander up to the surface any longer.

Anders stretched back into his proper shape. "Mister Wiggums indeed! I knew I shouldn't have told you about him!"

"Well," Maude pointed out, airily dismissing his complaint, "you need to have _some _sort of name when you're in cat form, especially when you're on a secret mission, and we don't want to let on that you're not always a cat! If you don't want to memorialize dear old Mister Wiggums, you'll have to think of a better name."

Morrigan appeared at their side, a few feathers drifting down. "The possibilities are endless," she smirked.

Anders groaned.

* * *

"Let's not hurry back to Denerim _right away_," Maude suggested idly, leaning back on her elbows to admire the campfire. "There are more interesting things to do in the south first."

Loghain regarded her suspiciously. This sounded like the prelude to some harebrained scheme of hers. A whine to his left distracted him, and he gave Ranger the tidbit he was begging for.

"What things, may I ask?" Morrigan queried. The witch—no, he must stop calling her that name in his head—was rightly wary when Maude starting talking in that _way_ she had.

Maude flashed a smile, and bounced to her feet. "Let me show you something."

She came back with a short cylinder of incised metal, and a map of southern Ferelden. She twirled the cylinder between her fingers, spinning it in bright arcs, and then tossed it and caught it a few times.

"Do you know what this is?"

Loghain grunted, "Your accessory for a new exotic dance, perhaps?"

Morrigan laughed, and Anders, on watch at the camp's periphery called, "An exotic dance? Don't start without me!"

Maude was still smiling, playing with the artifact. The strange markings were clearly runes, and they were inlaid with…lyrium?

"This," Maude declared proudly, "is a Golem Control Rod."

"Oh," Morrigan dismissed her. "'Tis that useless object you bought from a shifty trader west of Lake Calenhad. How you could encourage him was a mystery to me. You certainly put paid to that cheat who was peddling spurious magic books."

"That cheat _attacked_ us!" Maude countered. "Poor old Felix de Grosbois was just looking for a break. This didn't cost much, but it might be one of the best investments I ever made! Wouldn't you like to have our own personal golem?"

She unfolded the map and showed them a village that Loghain had previously noted was one of which he had never heard.

"Honnleath," she pointed. "That's where the golem is supposed to be. All we have to do is go straight west, and we're there. We'll never have a better chance. Otherwise it's terribly out of the way."

"It _is_ terribly out of the way," Loghain grunted. "It will take us at least two days to get there." Still, he hesitated. During the rebellion, a mage named Wilhelm had served Maric's troops very loyally. Wilhelm had owned a golem that had been formidable in battle. Yes, a golem was a powerful tool...

There was still something that concerned him.

"We don't want to be caught in bad weather, and then snowed in. That can happen fast, down here in the south. We don't know that this village hasn't been destroyed—or even if it really exists."

"Well," Maude insisted, "let's go see. If it doesn't, then we go on home. If it does, then Anora has another town to add to the tax rolls, and we might get a free golem. Think of all it could carry!"

West of Ostagar, there were few signs of human habitation. A single ruined Chasind village, annihilated by the darkspawn, was all they encountered on their way. They put the place to the torch and moved on. Further west, they saw very little Taint in the countryside, which was something of a relief. There was the usual dearth of game, and fewer birds than ought to be dwelling in the hills and marshes, but their evening camp was quiet, and Loghain did not even dream of darkspawn.

* * *

Late the second day, they saw a tall windmill in the distance. Loghain studied the map. That certainly was where this Honnleath place was said to be. A rudimentary road—more a grassy path—was revealed as they traversed the hills.

"That's not good," Anders muttered.

Blight. The signs were recent and scattered, but the darkspawn had come through here not long ago.

Maude kicked her horse into a trot, "Let's pick up the pace a little, shall we?"

People were living here—or had. They passed a burnt farmhouse, the former owners hanging from the charred beams. Beyond a low hill, smoke rose in an ominous cloud.

"These people have been dead for less than a day," Anders said, glancing over the pitiful dead. "And—"

"I feel them," Loghain nodded. "over there…"

* * *

Honnleath had a wall, but no gate in the gateway. There was no time to try to understand something so odd, so contrary to all reason and good sense. More bodies hung from the crossbeam over the path.

And then a handful of terrified people, in full scream, came running at them from the village.

"Darkspawn!" one fellow bawled at them, legs pumping. "Darkspawn! Run for your lives!"

Maude laughed out loud, and spurred her horse past them.

Anders was right behind her, He saw the bandy-legged genlocks coming, threw a powerful bolt of lightning at them, and promptly fell off his horse.

"Then come along on foot!" Loghain shouted at him, galloping on. He nocked an arrow and shot the first of the genlocks. It went down squealing, clutching a newly-feathered face. Smoothly, Loghain drew another arrow from his quiver, and loosed it with a twang.

Maude's horse screamed in alarm, but stayed the course as the girl leaned out of the saddle and swept the head from another genlock. She raced on, up a shallow hill into the heart of the village.

The darkspawn could not have been here long. Two or three houses were sullenly burning, the damp weather making that a slow business, and a few human bodies were sprawled in death in the little village square.

The darkspawn were not more than a dozen, now: Morrigan immediately targeted their spellcaster, and Anders immobilized their leader, a big Hurlock with horned helmet. Ranger charged the creature, knocking it down and ripping out its throat. The Wardens swept through the village with sword and spell, The horses squealed, outraged, and the mule, loosed from his lead, kicked out with lethal force.

Another darkspawn shattered into red oblivion, and Maude rode through it, spattered with gore. Loghain finished off the spellcaster, and then they looked about at their surroundings.

"We'll need to search the village," he said, "Come on."

It was hard to move onto that, of course, as Maude was staring at a large and stony object decorating the little village commons. Ranger yipped and bounded ahead.

"That's not a statue: that's my golem!" she shouted, lithely swinging her leg over her horse's head and jumping to the ground. "Oh, all right, Loghain! But just as soon as we clear out the town, I'm claiming it! Come on back, Ranger! No-don't piss on it! It's _mine!"_

They rounded up their uneasy horses and tied them to the rail fence by the commons. Using all their Warden powers, they walked about, trying sense the location of any other darkspawn.

"There." Maude pointed to a shattered door near the remains of the one large structure in the village: a tall stone tower, now partly collapsed. "I don't feel anything else, but there are some in there."

Loghain nodded, his blood telling him the same story. They moved in cautiously, and discovered that the door led to stairs, and the stairs to a deep and extensive cellar, well-made of finished stone and brick.

"These cellars must run under the entire village!" Maude remarked. "I've never seen anything like this since we left Denerim!"

They killed a party of darkspawn, and sensed more ahead. The cellars were fascinating: filled with huge tuns of excellent ale, a supply of foodstuffs that could feed a company of Warden for a year, books and furniture, and even an array of strange plants, like an underground garden. Morrigan moved in to study them, identifying them as rare fungi, very useful in potion-making.

Glowing crystals lit their way, as well as some of the phosphorescent lichen used by the dwarves. Maude brushed her hand against a damp wall and admired the way the lichen made her own gauntlet glow with an eerie blue light.

"Whoever constructed this place had mages to assist him," Anders concluded. "And smart mages at that, who knew something of dwarven inventions."

"You know," Maude said to herself, "I don't recall seeing a Chantry up there in the village…"

Her thoughts were interrupted by darkspawn racket. They emerged up a short flight to a large, dimly lit room full of the creatures.

The darkspawn, in their turn, were surprised by the appearance of the Wardens, since they were intent on something at the other end of the room—something that appeared to be a glowing wall. Thus it was not difficult to fall upon them and slaughter the lot. Morrigan froze the sole spellcaster and drained his life, while the rest of the creatures fell to Loghain and Maude's swords, and to Ranger's teeth and claws. Anders knocked one of the big hurlocks down, but in a distracted way, looking down the room in excited interest.

"Look at that!" he shouted. "It's a wall ward! I told you there were mages here!"

A terrified little crowd of people huddled behind the shining barrier: four men and two women. They stared at the Wardens in desperate, disbelieving hope.

The last of the darkspawn were finished off, and Maude paused, "listening" hard.

"I think we're done. I really think so. We got them. There might be a few more wandering in the hills, but the village is clean now."

Loghain felt the same, and was already moving on to the strange, transparent barrier, frowning. This was certainly mage's work, but he had never seen the like. A clever invention: the darkspawn had not succeeded in breaching it.

A tall, youngish man called out, "Did the Bann send you?"

Maude shook her head, "We're Grey Wardens."

"Grey Wardens!" cried a young woman. "Thank the Maker!"

Loghain considered the original question. "Which Bann would that be, anyway?"

"Bann Ulferth of Powys," the man said. "We sent one of our men to him, when we realized that the darkspawn were coming. Do you know if he got through?"

"Bann Ulferth has been dead for nearly two years," Loghain told him, not wanting to go into why he knew the man was dead. Powys was a remote and impoverished bannorn south of Redcliffe, but the bann had shown up to serve his king, along with his little band of men-at-arms. They had stood with Cailan, and died with him. A few refugees had brought word that Powys had been overrun and destroyed. "Powys is gone," he told them, a bit reluctantly.

"It _is_ a Blight!" wailed one of the men. "I knew it! Didn't I say so?"

The tall man, blond and straight, put out his hand, and the barrier vanished. He looked grieved and distracted. Maude hastened to comfort him.

"The Blight's over! There are a few wandering bands of darkspawn left, but the Archdemon is dead."

There were cries of relief from the people—all but from the tall blond man, who looked at them pleadingly.

"My little girl is missing," he told Maude, perhaps because he thought that her young and pretty face looked kind. "We ran down here and got behind the ward, but Amalia panicked and ran further down into the cellars below. They're not safe. Paulus followed her, and something killed him. We saw it. Could you go after her? You look," he glanced uneasily at Loghain. "pretty tough."

"We are," Maude told him blithely. "The toughest you're likely to meet. All right, we'll go down and look for her."

Morrigan being Morrigan, the witch pointed out, "If one of your men died, 'tis likely the child was slain too. However, if you wish us to waste out time—"

"We'll _go,"_ Loghain interrupted harshly, because he was thinking exactly the same thing. "But we have a lot of questions when we get back."

"But we've got to get out of here!" another man burst out.

"Don't do that!" Maude said, very persuasively. "Now that we've killed all the darkspawn in town, you're much safer _here_ than wandering around the countryside, especially with the weather about to turn. We got them all, so you might want to start putting your village to rights. Meanwhile," she gestured to her companions, "we'll go look for little Amalia."

"You're a mage," Anders said to the man. "Are _all_ of you mages?"

"Questions _later,"_ insisted Loghain, with a commanding gesture.

* * *

Past a door and a short tunnel they found the dead man.

"Killed by a demon, from the look of him," said Morrigan. "Let us be wary."

A little further down into the cellars, they came to a well-appointed study. The handsome desk and fine bookcases looked somewhat out of place in the crude stone and earth surroundings, but this room, too, was lit with crystals and lichen.

And inhabited by minor demons. They were nothing compared to the beings they had dispelled at Soldier's Peak. Once vanquished, Loghain poked about the room a little, and a journal on the dusty desk told him who had lived here. It was someone he had once known well.

"Wilhelm!" Loghain grunted. "This is where he went when Maric released him from service. He was made free of the Circle, and none of us ever saw him again."

"King Maric's mage?" Maude said, her examination of the room interrupted. "That's very interesting. He doesn't seem to be here any more."

"No, he doesn't…"

"A lot of good books. And no Chantry, either," Anders murmured to Morrigan. "There's a lot to like about the village of Honnleath, especially now that the darkspawn are gone."

* * *

The little girl was alive.

She was quite a nice little girl: her long brown hair braided neatly, her little pinafore and sash neat and clean. She seemed quite unaware of any danger, for she was playing happily with a cat. The room reeked with an aura of sinister magic, and a pattern of curious tiles adorned the floor.

Ranger nosed past Loghain, and growled softly.

"You're right. That is not a real cat," Anders whispered, as they watched the scene from the doorway. "In my capacity as a part-time Mister Wiggums, I can tell you with complete authority that that is not a proper cat."

"Another shape-shifter?" Loghain asked, very quietly.

"No," Morrigan answered slowly. "'Tis something powerful…and unpleasant. The child is in mortal peril."

The little girl looked up. "Oh, look! Someone else has come to play. Kitty can't leave the room until someone solves the puzzle, but it's too hard for me!"

"Amalia," Loghain said sternly, "your father is looking for you."

"My father?" The little girl gazed at them in confusion, a little intimidated by Loghain. "But I'm having fun here. Kitty is so pretty and perfect."

Anders tried coaxing the girl. "That's not really a cat, you know. You really should step away…"

An amused, huskily feminine voice issued from the cat. "Nothing you say will persuade her. Amalia is mine! Free me from my prison, mortals, and I shall grant your every desire."

Morrigan and Anders rolled their eyes at each other, "A _demon,"_ they proclaimed, in unison.

"Fine," Maude agreed instantly, with a blindingly sweet smile. "I'll solve the puzzle, you keep the girl, we get our desires fulfilled. Sounds good to me!"

Anders twitched, but Morrigan held him still. Loghain grimaced. Maude was up to her tricks again.

"Oh, this is so exciting," Amalia piped. "Kitty is going to be free!"

"A puzzle…" Maude considered, with a show of delight. "I love solving puzzles, and I'm frightfully good at them!"

Perhaps it was not entirely a show, Loghain admitted to himself. His young wife strolled past the little girl, with a quick pat on the child's head. Maude walked among the tiles, studying the layout, smiling to herself.

Then she started darting back and forth, moving the tiles in all directions. A trickle of flame followed her, traveling in an arcane course from one end of the room to the other. It was all a mystery to Loghain, who hated puzzles and hated the idea of expending a second's thought on anything resembling that kind of rubbish. He watched the little girl, ready for a sign that she was being attacked.

Gradually, they began to see a pattern emerging. Maude glanced up at Loghain, very pleased with herself. "Now what will be my desire be…?" She gave him a wink.

Ranger did not move, and crouched low, his fierce stare never wavering from the purple-eyed cat. Morrigan and Anders stood waiting, wands discreetly at the ready.

At the end of the tiles, Maude quickly moved a last one, and then jumped away from a triumphant blaze.

"At last!" the cat purred. "Something wonderful is happening, Amalia, for both of us!"

The little girl screamed, wracked with pain. "Kitty! No! What are you doing? I won't let you in me!"

"Of course you won't," Maude agreed. She said to Kitty. "I said I'd free you, but I never said I'd let you live. I always kill demons, myself, but that's just me."

"Betrayal!" The cat shape stretched and distorted. The ginger fur smoothed into sleek purple flesh, and the Desire Demon was revealed.

"The child is mine!"

"Amalia!" Loghain shouted at the little girl. "Get behind us and stay with the dog! Ranger! Protect her!"

Fiery demon thralls rose from the flaming puzzle, and floated toward the Wardens. The Desire demon shot a curse at them, and Loghain side-stepped it. The battle was joined. Understanding his role perfectly, Ranger butted against the startled child, backing her into a corner, and then turned to snarl at anything that might come his way.

Loghain focused his attention to the demon, slamming her with his shield to interrupt her spells. Frost and lightning sparkled gold and red in the firelight. The demon thralls were defeated, and with the Desire Demon outnumbered four to one, she went down, moaning. Loghain grimaced as she dissipated. Maude was right: the first Desire Demon one saw was rather arousing; further exposure to them caused him to see them as tawdry and repulsive.

The battle was over, and they retrieved the crying little girl from her corner.

"You did exactly the right thing, Amalia!" Maude assured the child cheerfully. "You told that demon to go away!" She peered at the remains, and slipped something shining into the small bag at her waist. "Very nice!

Amalia seemed to like Anders, perhaps because he resembled her father, and she was persuaded to take his hand and go back with them to find her father. Morrigan calmed the magical fires, and the room fell into darkness.

"There are no other exits from this room," she said, as they left. "I suggest we lock this door. The Veil there is thin, and 'twould be unwise for any future visitors to offer themselves as bait."

That was done, and they discovered that there were yet a few more demon thralls to fight clear of. Amalia shrieked piercingly, but Anders held tight to the small hand. The mist cleared, and they emerged back into old Wilhelm's study, where they shut and locked the doors to the lower cellars.

"This is my Grandfather's book room," the little girl told them. "He did 'speraments here. He died before I was born."

"Wilhelm?" Loghain asked her. "The mage Wilhelm was your grandfather?"

She nodded, still shy of Loghain.

"Interesting," Anders said to Morrigan. "He came here and lived a normal life. Or abnormal for a mage. That man who spoke to us was his son, then. Wouldn't the Chantry's collective head explode at the idea of this place? Mages getting married and raising families! Who would have thought it?"

"I can do magic," the little girl told him, very softly. "My daddy teaches me."

"I'm sure you can," Anders told her, beaming.

"Most certainly," Morrigan agreed, with a sardonic snort. "'Twas why the demon found you so attractive! You know, Amalia, if you like cats, you should ask Anders here to turn into one."

Amalia stopped and stared up at Anders, "You can turn into a cat! Are you a good kitty, or a bad kitty?"

"He's a very, very _good_ cat," Maude assured her. "Positively righteous! And when he's a cat, his name is Mister Wiggums!"

Amalia giggled, and confessed she might like to see Anders turn into Mister Wiggums when she was feeling a little braver, but not yet. Her father—whose name, they learned, was Matthias—wept with gratitude when they returned his daughter to him.

The little girl ran to him, crying, "I'm sorry, Daddy! I was scared."

He gathered her up in his arms, hushing her, "That's all right, butterfly. You're safe. That's all that matters."

* * *

The survivors, trembling with shock, were huddled outside. One was on the ground, his head bleeding.

"Freder tried to take one of the horses, and the mule attacked him," they were told.

"Oh, well done, Meghren," Maude praised the mule. The creature rolled its eyes her way, and its mouth stretched into an impressive sneer. Maude shrugged. "Well, it was."

The houses were searched. One family had successfully hidden in their own small root cellar. Another had taken refuge in their loft. Three children had been orphaned: a pair of terrified boys found in the attic where their parents had concealed them, and a toddler, asleep in a cupboard.

Matthias' sister was one of the women who had sheltered with him behind the magical barrier. She was crying over a man lying dead in the square.

"My brother-in-law, Olaf," Matthias told him, and led Amalia away to be with the grieving woman.

"Well," Maude said, "We can help them clean up the mess, but first…"

She ran up to the stony figure in the center of the commons, and pulled out the glittering control rod. Waving it at the frozen golem, she intoned, _"Dulef gar!"_

Nothing happened. Maude scowled at the rod, the golem, and her amused companions.

"_Dulef gar,_ you son of a bitch!"

The golem did not move.

"Most unfortunate!" Morrigan smirked. "It appears that Felix de Grosbois has sold you a defective device."

Maude snarled, "I'll _skin_ him, the rotten cheat!"'

"_Maude…"_ Loghain groaned.

Anders said soothingly, "Don't skin him, Maude. That sounds…messy. Maybe the golem is worn out. Maybe it's broken due to lack of regular maintenance. Maybe it was broken to begin with, and that's why someone sold the control rod to the trader. How much did you pay for it?"

"Too much," sulked Maude. "Even a farthing is too much for something that _doesn't work!"_

"It doesn't matter," Loghain said impatiently, pulling her away. "It was a fortunate happenstance that led to saving these people's lives. That makes it worthwhile. These people need our help. Now. Come along."

"I suppose…"

The dead were carried outside the village, and were laid out for cremation.

"We'll clean up the darkspawn," Maude offered, bravely trying overcome her crushing disappointment about the golem fiasco. She told the villagers, "You shouldn't touch them."

It was a long and tiresome job, but it was all part of a Grey Warden's duty. The foul creatures were hauled away in a cart pulled by Meghren. Only Loghain could have hitched the ill-tempered mule, but hitch him he did, while the horses were safely bestowed in the village's little stable. It took three trips to carry all the darkspawn well away from the village, and then the mages incinerated the remains and the cart as well.

A quiet funeral was held for the dead villagers. They had lost eight, a heavy blow for the small community.

"Won't you stay?" a woman, more daring than the rest, begged Loghain, as the bodies burned. "We haven't much coin, but you're welcome to all we have. If more of those creatures come, we're as good as dead!"

Anders whispered to Loghain. "_Couldn't_ we stay for a bit? I'd love to find out how to do that wall barrier! Favor for favor, as it were. Besides, these people really do need protection, and it might be nice to rest and resupply here."

Loghain frowned. It was getting late in the year, but the mage's words had merit. These people required help, and another attack was not beyond the realm of possibility.

And while they were talking, Maude was talking to Matthias and his sister, comforting the woman, making promises, and getting quite a bit in return, unsurprisingly.

She trotted over with a smile. "The people who owned the house by the gate were killed. It's empty and ours if we stay. And we get access to all of Wilhelm's books and notes, too!" She made a face. "Matthias says that the golem went all wonky. It killed his father, it seems, and his mother got rid of the control rod. He thinks it's for the best that it doesn't work at all now. Pity."

The little house had the air of a place where the owners would return at any moment. They would not, of course. The young husband and his even younger wife had been cut down from the crossbeam over the gateway where they were hanging, and they had been burned on the common pyre, Nonetheless, the fire on the hearth of the room that served as both kitchen and sitting room was only now burning low. A cloak lay where it had been dropped on the floor. Maude looked about, taking it all in, and had the decency not to crow over their acquisition, especially when her eyes fell on the half-finished cradle in a corner.

She did, however, approve of it. "This is a nice house," she said over her shoulder to Morrigan. "Nicely kept. Bedellia was a good housekeeper." She picked up the forsaken cloak and folded it, smoothing the rough wool gently.

She claimed possession of the little bedroom for herself and Loghain, simply by walking in there and dropping a bag on the bed. Morrigan sniffed and ran upstairs.

"There is a bedroom up here," she announced loudly. "Which is _mine._ There is a little attic up here, too, where _someone else_ can sleep."

"Oh, thank you so much," Anders muttered.

Loghain only grunted, and loaded his arms with wood from the pile under the staircase. It would be cold tonight, he suspected. He had better build up the fire. Ranger gave a huge stretch, and flopped down by the reawakened flames, panting in approval at Loghain's efforts.

Almost immediately, visitors arrived. The survivors brought food and extra bedding, bottles of wine and rounds of cheese; even a meaty bone for Ranger, who accepted it with lordly aplomb.

When they at last grasped who Loghain actually was, it was as great a thing as if the King himself had come. It was necessary to talk to these people, so Loghain could not retreat into growling embarrassment, and he was a Grey Warden and not a noble any longer, so he could not distance them with a title.

And they wanted to know so much about the outside world. This was a tight little community, self-sufficient and freethinking, but they were still curious. More survivors had come down to the village: the miller and his family had taken refuge up near the sails of the windmill, and the darkspawn had not yet spotted them when the Wardens arrived.

Nearly all the people of Honnleath were mages—though not very strong or well-trained ones—or married to mages or the children or parents of mages. Only a few people outside knew that Honnleath existed, and the residents were anxious that it stay that way.

"You know what would happen if the Chantry heard about Honnleath," Matthias said, dread in his eyes. "That was the reason for the extensive cellars, orginally. Bann Ulferth knew Father from the Rebellion, but he never troubled us."

"Well, they certainly won't hear about you from _us,"_ Maude said, her voice vibrating with persuasion. "We don't even talk to the Chantry, because they annoyed me during the Blight and didn't help a bit."

"If you don't mind my saying it," Anders began slowly, "For such a lot of mages, you didn't fight the darkspawn very…" he paused, trying to find a tactful word, "capably. I mean," he hurried on, "the barrier was excellent, and I really want to learn that, but there are lots of ways to fight darkspawn magically, and…"

There was some shuffling. Matthias grimaced. "My father died when I was pretty young, and my mother wasn't magical at all. Father wanted us to live in peace. He helped some of his friends from the Circle escape and join him, and they were Isolationists. After the war, all they wanted was to be somewhere quiet where the Chantry or the Orlesians couldn't bother them. We don't wear robes or carry staves. We're just people here. That's why Father taught me a lot of warding spells—my sister Cloelia knows them too, and so did Olaf. And we know lots of spells for growing things and for household tasks and healing, but battlemagic was something that Father hoped would never be needed again."

"Ha!" Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Utter nonsense!"

Matthias was not offended at her remark, as it was evident that she was absolutely correct.

Another man growled, "If Olaf had done what he was supposed to, we _wouldn't_ have needed it."

Matthias put up his hands, agreeing. He explained to the Wardens. "Olaf thought the daily and nightly warding was a waste of time and energy. We can charm this place so that outsiders can't get into the village, but he didn't see the point anymore. Of course, Father could enchant the place so no one would even _notice_ us. Nobody ever visited us but that trader, years after Father died, and some Chasinds, and they certainly don't care if we use magic. When we needed something from Outside, we send a cart and some people up to Redcliffe or Lothering to trade. We make a point of not keeping up the road. We didn't even know there was a Blight until those darkspawn hit us."

"Wait," Loghain said, "are you saying you can make this village…invisible?"

Matthias made a face. "Theoretically," he allowed. "Of course, Father's notes are mostly in Old Tevinter, and none of us know that language."

"I know it," Anders volunteered.

"And I," Morrigan declared, not to be outdone, and very eager to learn such an enchantment. "We would be…pleased…to help you rediscover your birthright."

Maude nudged Loghain. "That explains the lack of a gate. We need to learn this magic. Think what we could do for the defenses of Soldier's Peak!"

Loghain was thinking of the same thing, that very moment. "And it seems to me that something similar could be done to ward our camps."

Maude and Morrigan exchanged excited looks. To be able to camp with no one on watch would improve everyone's lives immeasurably.

Anders had his mind on something else. He asked Matthias, "Have you ever heard of the Mages' Collective? I'll bet there are mages who would love to live here!"

They talked quite a long time, eating and drinking all the while. Matthias went out to demonstrate how the gate barrier was raised, and Loghain and Maude watched from the doorway of the little cottage, only steps away.

"Aren't you glad you came?" Maude whispered. "We saved heaps of people, and we'll learn an amazing defensive enchantment. Now," she added, with a hint of a pout, "if we had just got a golem out of it, it would have perfect!"

Eventually the visitors trudged on home, and Maude and Loghain could get out of their armor, wash each properly, and enjoy themselves in a smallish but decent bed. Loghain let Maude pounce on him, and allowed her to lick his most exquisitely sensitive places: earlobe and throat and nipple; trailing down his belly to take him in a way no other woman had ever offered. He gave himself up to it, and rapture stretched out into infinity. The calls of nightbirds blended with the wind sighing along the cottage walls, indistinct murmurs from upstairs, and the soft sounds Maude was making.

He stroked her face afterward, relaxed but bent on reciprocation. He cleared his throat, his head still spinning.

"Where in the world did you learn to do that?" he murmured into the darkness.

"At the Arl of Denerim's estate. I was busy that day, but I'm very observant," she murmured, nuzzling against his shoulder. "I learn very quickly. One of the elf maids was doing that for a guard, and he seemed to like it a lot. And besides, I read all about it in _The Art of Passionate Love _back at home in Highever,except it was all so flowery I didn't exactly understand it at the time, until I saw those two while I was killing everybody else. Then it sort of clicked in my head. Do you ever feel like that?"

"Like something clicks in my head when I'm killing someone? Perhaps. I take it you did not kill those two lovers."

"Of course not. That would have been tacky. They weren't trying to kill me. I generally don't kill people who aren't trying to kill me. They were just having a nice time."

"Where did you get a copy of _The Art of Passionate Love?"_

"In my father's study. It was in a locked cabinet where anyone could find it, hidden behind the unabridged _Sermons of the Divine Scholastica_." She nuzzled a little more, and murmured, "You have such a beautiful throat, Loghain. I've always loved it."

He was just about to slip two fingers up inside his favorite silky moist place, when the peace of the night was shattered by a wild scream and a crash.

"Morrigan!" Maude cried. She tried to jump out of bed, but Loghain held her fast. "She's—"

Morrigan's voice rang down from on high._ "Oh, yes, Yes, YES!"_

"She's…"

"Absolutely fine. Apparently enjoying herself thoroughly. I hope Anders is with her, but perhaps she's simply torturing him. Knowing her, I suppose that's possible."

They listened a moment longer, and it was clear that Morrigan was _not_ alone. Alarmed at the noise, Ranger had awakened, thundered upstairs, and was now barking at the closed door.

"_Go AWAY, you wretched mongrel! Anders, do something about that dog at once!"_

A door opened, and there was murmuring, whining, and then pleading. Ranger eventually thundered downstairs again and collapsed in front of the fire with an indignant _'whoof!'_

The door closed, but they could still hear their upstairs neighbors._ "Oh, Anders! Look at the moon! Is it not magnificent?"_

"_At the moment, all I care about are two moons in a white sky, and magnificent is too weak a word…"_

Maude laughed, her breath warm and teasing. "I'm glad we don't say such silly things! Wait… Loghain…what are you doing?…Oh…_Oh_…What a _good_ idea!"

* * *

_Note: Thanks to all my readers, and especially to my reviewers: Amhran Comhrac, Eva Galana, Shakespira, Josie Lange, Lehni, Sayle, Zute, mutive, wisecracknmama, Judy, JackOfBladesX, callalili, Prisoner 24601, Hammerchuckery, Enaid Aderyn, mille libri, Piceron, Aoi24, Kcousland, wayfaringpanda, Windchime68, Fay02, Arenaviridae, icey cold, Notnahtanha, and Demonchick344. I can't tell you how much you do to keep me thinking and writing!_

_Yes, there will be a Shale! Just not quite yet.  
_

_My little warrior statues arrived! Arsinoe approves +20! I now have Loghain (with sword and shield) and Duncan (with sword and Joining chalice) watching me from either side of my desk. They're just so fierce and adorable!_


	19. Andraste Redux

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 19: Andraste Redux  
**

Even with a warm girl and a comfortable bed, it was hard for Loghain to sleep in very long in the morning. He had been raised a farmer, after all, and there was always much to be done at daybreak. As an outlaw, a rebel, a soldier, his habits had not changed much. There was always something that needed doing. The moment the neighbor's bloody rooster crowed, he knew the horses required his attention.

A moment of resolve, and he slipped from underneath the blankets and more or less dressed himself. Outside, the eastern sky was shimmering in pearls and roses over the rolling meadows of Honnleath. Loghain paused to admire it all, feeling unutterable things.

The stable was next door, and Loghain found caring for the beasts relaxing. He fetched them water from the well, mucked out the stalls, forked over some hay. The horses accepted his care with mild appreciation. Meghren sneered, and took the food and water for granted as his just due. Loghain patted the mule's flank, recognizing him as a kindred spirit.

He was not the only one stirring at this early hour. A woman up the hill was going out to her chicken coop to hunt for eggs. She saw Loghain, and gave him a wave, and a respectful, "Good morning, Warden!"

He waved back. They would be here a few days at least, and there was no need to make enemies. It was odd. He had never lived in a village before. Really and truly. His first sixteen years had been spent on the family freehold, with occasional trips to town. Their closest neighbors had been a mile away. After...what had happened... he had lived a vagabond existence, mostly in forest camps, during the Rebellion. After the war, his time had been spent largely in the cities of Denerim or Gwaren.

So they would have neighbors here: neighbors every day. Grateful neighbors, but neighbors all the same. Loghain wondered how it would all play out. Maude would be charming, Anders would chatter endlessly, and Morrigan would probably offend everyone.

A man was coming down the hill, leading a pair of cows out of the village to the meadow. Somehow the darkspawn had missed these. A great deal of the livestock had perished, and the rest would have to be watched for signs of Blight. Another reason to stay. No doubt the villagers would hesitate to kill and burn as they should. The cowherd exchanged nods with Loghain, and Loghain remembered him as one of the men who had taken refuge behind the barrier.

At least the fires were out. Enough earth had been heaped on them to smother the blazes. It was too bad about Wilhelm's tower, but unless the villagers had a mason among them, rubble it would remain. Perhaps the stone could be used to build up the village walls a bit...

The wind changed, blowing from the the south, where they had burned the darkspawn. Loghain grimaced at the residual odor. A good rain or two would settle all that, eventually.

He returned to the cottage, and Ranger brushed past him, trotting out to greet the morning in his special doggy way. Loghain left the door cracked open, so the dog could get back in when he liked, and then turned his attention to the fireplace, which now held nothing but cold ashes. It did not take long to have a fire going and to put pot of water over it to heat. Thumping noises echoed from upstairs. He snorted. It had been inevitable, he supposed. Anders and Morrigan had been dancing about the point since they met. He paused, imagining... After all, he had nearly..._slept_...with Morrigan himself...

He eased the bedroom door open.

"I'm not asleep," Maude said softly from the shadows. "Just shamelessly lazy. Come back to bed."

Why not? He cast off boots, breeches and shirt, and slid back into the enticing warmth, spooning cozily against her back.

"Oh!" she murmured. "What a horrible, cold, _bristly_ male person you are! When did you last shave?"

He rasped his cheek against the soft skin of her shoulder, and then turned her over, rasping the adorable breasts as well before he suckled them each in turn. He took care to pay as much attention to her left breast as to the other, lest she take it into her silly head that he was put off by her scars. Fierce and impatient, she pulled him into her arms, cradling his body with hers, and moaned gratefully as he buried himself within her.

They were quite good at this now, and fell into a perfect rhythm without any awkwardness. Exquisitely responsive, she needed very little attention before she was thrashing under him, moaning incoherently. And then it took only a little more before she did it all over again. He had never thought of himself as a particularly accomplished lover until his life with Maude, but Maude was a persuasive girl, and not only with words. He especially enjoyed being persuaded to lose all control and grasp her close, bucking urgently. And then there were the tender words and the soft kisses, and the utter peace as he rolled away, one arm still holding her. They nestled blissfully, curled together, and in all the world there was nothing but the two of them.

For a few moments, at least. One could lie there, half floating , only so long when there was work to be done. Besides, he decided, he was rather hungry. His stomach rumbled in agreement, and Maude stirred.

"Right. Breakfast. I suppose this means I must actually dress, since hot porridge is very uncomfortable on bare skin."

"I'll help you," he offered.

"No," she said, lightly slapping his face. _"You're_ going to shave."

She kissed him there afterwards, to take away the sting, and they enjoyed the pleasure of dressing together. Loghain made Maude sit while he brushed out her thick and wavy hair, and then braided it into a single long plait. She tossed it over her shoulder and gave him another kiss, and then swaggered out to start breakfast.

"They brought us a big jar of honey, too," Maude told him happily. "Someone here in the village must keep bees. I hope they weren't killed. I mean the beekeeper. Of course, I hope they didn't kill the bees, either. I wonder if bees can be Blighted, or if they just fly away and make a new hive somewhere safe? I think beekeeping is very interesting. There was an old woman who lived in a cottage near Highever who kept bees, and she'd let me help sometimes. Bees are amazing creatures. Morwen showed me how to extract the honey from the comb, and when she had enough wax she would let me help her make candles and her special lip balm. It was such fun…So anyway we have bread and honey. We have eggs! What _shall_ I do with them…?" She dithered on. Loghain smiled to himself as the razor skimmed him back into smoothness.

The mages had no trouble coming down to breakfast, once all the work was done. Anders looked uncommonly smug.

"I hope we didn't make too much noise," he said, completely insincere. Morrigan dug her fingers into his upper arm. It looked affectionate, aside from the blue sparks and Anders' wide-eyed jump.

Loghain snorted, "Not at all. I'm sure they didn't hear you in _Denerim."_

Maude smiled sweetly. Morrigan preened, obviously pleased with herself. Loghain only hoped the domestic bliss would last.

* * *

For the most part, it did. Loghain always remembered their days in Honnleath as a particularly—_curiously_—happy time.

Maude persuaded him, early on, that they were not going to reveal the existence of this place to the world at large. In fact, it did not take much persuasion for him to agree that he would not even tell Anora, since she might feel it behooved her to tell her husband, and then Chantry Boy would certainly spill it to the Grand Cleric, and then all these people would either be killed or imprisoned. Probably all killed. Even the non-mages would be killed as they tried to defend a parent, a spouse, a child.

They weren't doing any harm, and no one else wanted to live here. Loghain had always tolerated the Chantry- because you never knew when some nobleman or other was going to turn out to be fanatically devout-but he could not say he liked or approved of the Chantry. They were at bottom an Orlesian institution, and inevitably they would come down on the side of Orlais…with all sorts of fine words to soften the act of treachery. He had not forgotten the Chantry's collaboration in the conquest and occupation of Ferelden.

No. He was not entirely comfortable with magic, but he had come to understand just how much of that discomfort was the result of childhood indoctrination, and how little was based in reality.

Magic was just so immensely _useful. _Yes, train the mages, but once they were done, let them go and serve in the army, or be healers, or do as they liked. Loghain saw no reason to lock them away to moulder away in the Circle Tower.

Listening to Anders rant about the Circle was affecting him, certainly: but Anders seemed reasonable to him. The Harrowing and the Rite of Tranquility both seemed horribly like the Templars were deliberately culling the mages. Anders believed he had not been made Tranquil only because of his talent as a Healer, which was prized—at least within the walls of the Circle. As to the fact that some mages asked to be made Tranquil, Anders replied that many were terrified of the unknown dangers of the Harrowing, and knew only that a Templar would kill them if they failed some unspecified test. Also, Anders told him, the Tranquil were useful to the Chantry, since their slave labor cleaned and fed the Circle, and produced the profitable items offered for sale at the Wonders of Thedas.

Maude believed that everyone who lived in Ferelden was a Fereldan. She not only said it, but she lived it.

"It was the sudden tumble, you see," she told him. "Here I was at the very, very top, and the next day I was a penniless recruit, marching along in mismatched third-rate armor, I got to see Ferelden from the bottom, and I learned that things are not so satisfactory there. Besides, I was thrown in with all the groups that most human Fereldans spit on in the streets, and I had to understand them and work with them. And then these same despised people manned up and saved our country. And got precious little in return, I might add, but it would have been silly to expect much more, I suppose."

"The Dalish elves were given land enough for a home," Loghain pointed out.

Maude smiled, amused and unconvinced. "They were given land here in the south that nobody wanted anyway. It's marshy, unproductive, Blight-tainted, and unpleasantly cold for half of the year. It's not like the Crown granted them something desirable!" She laughed. "With the elves' luck, they'll discover gold or diamonds there, and then the humans will move in and say that Dalish were never given it at all, and that it belongs to real people who will properly exploit it: that is, humans!"

That was another thing: he had never known Maude to be so sane and balanced as here in Honnleath. She had a domestic streak that was satisfied with life in their little cottage. Not that she had become a full-time housekeeper: she was too busy patrolling and studying Wilhelm's books for that. A number of the village women took charge of the Warden's laundry, housecleaning, and meals, but Maude still had the opportunity to dabble in cooking when she liked, and she seemed to enjoy the simplicity of it all. Besides, these people were poor, grateful for her presence, and in need of her protection, and thus she apparently did not regard them as rightful prey. Loghain remembered that she had behaved somewhat the same in the alienage during the Battle of the Denerim. After all, she had been raised in the duties of a noble lady, and Loghain thought it unlikely that she would have been taught to go about plundering the homes of her Highever vassals.

The Wardens patrolled the area surrounding the village daily. One mage went along, while the other worked in Wilhelm's fascinating study. Progress was moving along on translating his notes. In addition, those who had magic were being trained in some of the more aggressive arts by Morrigan and Anders. Everyone with sufficient magic was taking turns raising the barrier wards, both morning and evening. Everyone else was made to practice archery or learn to use a blade. Some, whose magic was weak, were doing all those things.

At breakfast one morning, Morrigan pointed out the limitations of the barrier enchantment to her fellow Wardens.

"It must be anchored by something material. Stone is best, but trees will do. The barrier may be attacked by destroying the anchor, but darkspawn are too mindless to hit upon that."

Loghain considered this, and said, "And that would make the enchantment very effective within the tunnel that leads up the mountain to Soldier's Peak. It would anchored on all sides by stone."

"Oh, yes," Morrigan agreed. "Twill be very powerful there. But 'tis useful in other ways as well. As the barrier permits the passage of light and air, it could be used to imprison individuals, by casting it over a window or a doorway."

"Oh!" Maude cried. "A version of it was used to imprison Anora at Howe's estate. But I brought it down by killing the mage."

"There's a consideration," Loghain remarked. "One must protect the mage who casts the spell."

"Here's something interesting!" Anders said, bringing a notebook to the table. Maude frowned. She disapproved of reading at meals, and was just about to say so, when Anders continued.

"I don't think that golem killed Wilhelm at all! It was the demon…I'm sure of it. Wilhelm was messing about with the demon he had trapped in the puzzle room, and it got to him somehow."

"That's interesting," Maude shrugged. "You should tell Matthias. Now put your book away, and sit up properly to the table. My old Nan would rake you over the coals if she saw you now!"

Anders grinned. "Yes, Mother!"

* * *

The time had come to make some choices. With the month of Firstfall, the weather could turn bad at any time. They had spent more time in Honnleath than they had originally intended. Either they must winter here, or they must leave soon.

And then go where? They had accomplished their mission. They could return to Denerim with Cailan's armor and Duncan's weapons and Eamon's damning letters. Maude thought it was a bit early to move against Eamon, so those would have to be set aside, for now. They did not want to go due north to Redcliffe. Loghain could not imagine that he would be welcome there, Grey Warden or not.

The four of them sat at the little rough-hewn table at the cottage, eating a remarkably good stew that Anders and Maude had concocted between them. They lingered over their cups of ale, talking.

"West Hill was hit hard by the darkspawn," Loghain considered. "Perhaps instead of going home by the West Road, we might go up beside Lake Calenhad. There must be roving bands there."

"Kristoff was going to patrol on the east side of Lake Calenhad, moving down the Lake Road," Maude told them. "Why don't we go up the west side, and see where things stand? We can go through all of West Hill that way." She thought a little more. "If the weather gets really bad, we could pay a visit to Orzammar first. They don't _have_ weather there."

Anders saw the expression on Morrigan's face. "You don't seem to care for the idea."

"Oh, no! I _adore _the prospect of a million tons of stone over my head, no sunlight, and breathing the fetid exhalations of drunken dwarves. And they are all of them drunken: all of them. I cannot tell you how I _long_ to taste lichen bread and nug once more."

"Orzammar is really_ interesting,"_ Maude maintained. She asked Loghain, "Have you ever been there?"

"Actually, no," he confessed. "Maric loved to travel, which meant that I had to remain behind and run Ferelden while he was laying on the charm. He went there about eight years ago, and took Cailan with him."

Morrigan growled, and put her head in her hands. Maude patted her arm consolingly. "I'm sure that they'll put us up in the Royal Palace this time! They'll feed us all sorts of surfacer foods to show off. You remember the party that Bhelen threw for his coronation. No nug served there!"

Morrigan, only half-convinced, regarded her pityingly. "'Tis all very well, but you know that some catastrophe will befall them, and it will all end with us having to go into the Deep Roads. The King's infant son will have unaccountably strayed there, or he will need a lost family heirloom which he has never wanted or needed before, or he will have made a wager with one of his worthless nobles. Then we shall have to spend a ridiculous amount of time sorting out his affairs, and receive nothing but empty praise for our trouble—if we are not all gruesomely slain by the darkspawn."

"Optimistic, aren't you?" Anders teased. Morrigan made a face.

"If he asks us to fight darkspawn," Loghain said flatly, "we have to. We owe the dwarves. I have…always wanted to see Orzammar for myself. They must know things about the darkspawn we do not, and I would like to visit the Shaperate, and perhaps copy their maps."

Anders rubbed Morrigan's back in little comforting circles. She said, "I know 'tis on the way, but you were not thinking about revisiting that ghastly temple again, were you? To wheedle another pinch of ashes from your Prophet?"

Maude rolled her eyes. "Of course I considered it. More ashes might be useful, but I still have some, and I have no idea how a return visit would be received. Remember that huge library? I'll bet there's lot of interesting things there. We'd need a proper expedition, as I see it. If one of the dragon eggs hatched, we might have a serious fight on our hands. I think we'd better put that off for another time, with a bigger party, more supplies and equipment, at least two wagons, and summer weather. It's cold up in the mountains even then, and now...ao, no, I don't think we should go there. Here we are at the beginning of Firstfall. If we were snowed in at the temple, things might get fairly grim."

The map of Ferelden was rolled out and examined. "What's this place called Haven?" asked Anders. "I've never heard of it. Couldn't we stop there?"

Maude and Morrigan caught each other's eye.

Maude shook her head. "I _really _don't think we want to go there..."

Morrigan shrugged. "We largely annihilated the village. I think it unlikely they would put up the slightest resistance." She told Anders, "The village was full of dragon-worshiping fanatics. There was a High Dragon up at the old temple whom they called Andraste. Maude thought one of their priests most manly and compelling, but she killed him for all that."

Maude waved that away. "Well, we killed that dragon, but as I say, there were a lot of eggs up there, and we probably didn't get them all. The village of Haven itself was creepy, and not just because they had a habit of murdering travelers and chopping up the remains. The fact that we found most of the remains at the village store-where they also sold provisions-didn't make the place any more appealing."

"Thrifty of them, I suppose," Morrigan remarked. "The Chasind also eat the flesh of the dead, but only as a sign of respect."

Maude tapped the map. "Well, why don't we at least plan a look-in at Orzammar? We can do a bit of trading there, and visit the Shaperate. We should be able to get there within a week, if the weather holds. Much of the way we'd travel on the Imperial Highway, and that's always decent."

* * *

The people of Honnleath did not particularly want them to go. Anders' magic classes had been well-attended, and the villagers were immensely grateful to the Wardens both for saving them in the first place, and subsequently protecting them. Anders had made good friends with Matthias and his family, and promised to try to visit again someday. On the day of departure, everyone was there to see the Wardens off, bringing gifts and well-wishes. The children actually cried, and they were not the only ones.

Matthias approached them hesitantly. "There's one more thing…"

He looked very embarrassed. "When Anders told me about Father, I…well, before then I didn't want you to get hurt. It would have been a poor return for all you've done. But now that I know that Father was killed by the demon… Look, I found out something about the golem. There are some words you have to speak to activate it: _Dulen ham."_

"Oh?" Maude eyes widened, and her smile flashed out like lightning. She jumped down and raced across the common.

Loghain blew out a breath, and trudged after her. He should have known she would get her way in the end. The massive stone creature stood over seven feet tall, and was vaguely man-shaped: as if someone had massed boulders together in an attempt to approximate human form. He had seen this golem before, in the days of the Rebellion, but it looked...different, somehow...

"You know, I remember Wilhelm's golem as being much…bigger."

"You were younger then, Loghain. Things always seem bigger to the young."

"I was a grown man at the time!" he shot back, rather testily.

She only smiled and held out the control rod. _"Dulen ham!"_

A low rumble, like a minor earthquake. A high grinding of stone against stone that set his teeth on edge. The creature moved, dust sifting through long-unused joints. It was slow, but it was definitely moving. The face—if one could call it that, turned down, and then toward Maude. Inanimate stone eyes suddenly flared in a blaze of lyrium. Some of the village women shrieked in alarm.

To everyone's amazement a voice issued from the golem: a voice not of submission, but of sardonic bemusement.

"I knew that the day would come when someone would find the control rod. Not even a mage this time. Probably stumbled across the rod by accident, I suppose. Typical."

Maude's eyes opened very wide. Taking a cautious step forward, she said, "Er, hello to you, too. Actually, I did not just _stumble_ upon it."

"That implies that it knew what is was doing. Shocking. I've stood here for years and years, watching the villagers, and there was not the slightest inkling that they knew what they were doing at all. Between their stupidity and the flocks of filthy birds using me for target practice, life in this village has been rather unpleasant."

Morrigan, ever acerbic, added, "It seems to me that you should be grateful for the opportunity to stretch your limbs once more."

"More mages," the golem snarked. "Charming."

"Do you have a name?" asked Maude.

"Perhaps," the golem said, a hint of acid in its voice. "I may have forgotten it in all the years I was called 'Golem.' _'Golem, do this,' 'Do be a good golem and squash that insipid bandit,' _and my favorite, _'Golem, carry me. I tire of walking.'_" It fixed burning eyes on Maude and asked, very casually, "It _does_ have the control rod doesn't it? I am awake, so it must…"

_"It _does," Maude answered instantly. "Right here in _its_ hand."

"Hmm… I see the control rod, yet I feel… Go on, order me to do something!"

Loghain could not remember Wilhelm's golem ever speaking. This creature, he suspected, might never stop. And the deep voice was positively…patronizing. It was amused and superior and insufferable.

"Hmm. Pick him up!" Maude commanded, pointing to Anders.

"Hey!" Anders protested. The golem did not move.

"Hmmm...And nothing. I feel nothing. No. I feel not the slightest compulsion to do a thing you say. I suppose this means that the rod is…broken?"

Maude was thinking over the possibilities, very quickly. "Shouldn't you…be…_happy_ about that?"

"Perhaps. I find myself at a loss," Shale confessed. "I certainly will not remain here to be a perch for foul flying creatures, but while I appear to have Free Will, I have absolutely no idea what to do with it. What about _it_?" the golem asked Maude, "_It_ must have had some reason to awaken me. What did it intend to do with me?"

"I wanted you to come with us!" Maude declared confidently. "We are Grey Wardens. We have interesting adventures, and we fight darkspawn. That is the worthiest occupation in all Thedas!"

"The darkspawn are an evil that must be destroyed, it is true," the golem mused, "though they are not as evil as birds. It doesn't know of a heroic order devoted to the extermination of bird life? No? I suppose I have two options: go with it, or go elsewhere. I do not even know what lies beyond this village."

"The creature might slow us down," Morrigan observed. "We would have to slow the horses to a walk in order for it to lumber after us."

"I can run rather fast," the golem countered. "and I never get tired. Not a bit. Not like squishy creatures with fragile bird-like heads." After a moment, the golem declared, "I will follow it about then…for now. I am called Shale, by the way."

Maude was instantly in polite mode. "I am Maude, and I'm very happy to meet you. This is Loghain, this is Morrigan, and this is Anders. And this is my dog, Ranger."

Ranger cocked his head.

Shale lowered its head and studied Ranger. "I warn you, dog. Do you know how many of your kind urinated on me in this village? If I see one of those legs of yours lift so much as an inch in my direction…"

Ranger whined and backed away.

Shale continued, "I am glad we have come to an understanding. At least your kind can be reasoned with…unlike filthy feathered fiends!" Shale considered the matter, and finally said, "Yes, I shall go with it. The journey would be something new. My existence over the past age has been...humdrum. Dull. Boring, except for the times when the mage and I were slaughtering squishy creatures."

"Orlesians," Loghain supplied. "I remember seeing you with Wilhelm. You were most impressive. And those squishy creature were Orlesians, a most inferior and infamous people. Every time you...er...squished...one, you made this world a better place."

"You remember me? We have met?"

"Wilhelm did not introduce you, but we certainly fought on the same side."

"Ah. A comrade-in-arms, so to speak. I shall shed one crystal tear of nostalgia for the good old days that I do not remember. And now, I shall wait for you at the gate, not wishing to participate in your wet and noisy leave-takings."

Just as well, for the villagers were very nervous at the creature's reawakening, and hurried out of its way. The Wardens made their last farewells, and it was time to go.

Matthias whispered to Loghain. "I still wouldn't trust that creature! I'd keep a watchful eye on it, if I were you!"

Loghain assured the man that he always kept a watchful eye on everything, and at last they passed beyond the walls of Honnleath. The golem moved along with their trotting horses, alarmingly fast, and not as loudly as Loghain had expected.

He said to Shale, "It's odd, but I seem to remember you as being...larger? I'm certain of it. Did you somehow...shrink?"

Shale sighed, trotting along tirelessly. "My former master's wife complained that I was too tall for the doorways."

"How does one shrink a golem?"

"With a chisel," sneered Shale. "And a lot of nerve."

* * *

The horses did not particularly enjoy the presence of Shale. That large and noisy presence was a new thing in their experience, and their experience told them that new things were generally bad. Loghain spoke to the golem sternly about the matter, and got a sarcastic response. Then he sent Maude to do the same, with far better results. She sweetened her judicious coaxing with a heaping helping of flattery.

"Are those...crystals...embedded in you?" she asked, her voice laden with admiration. "They are so pretty!"

"They are, aren't they? And they enhance my powers as well. If you come across any more, I may be able to make use of them. You don't think they make me look fat?"

"Of course not!" Maude assured the creature. "They're very slimming!"

They came across a few scattered bands of darkspawn on their way north. The golem was certainly effective against them. However, it was more important than ever to control one's mount. Anders ended up on the ground more than once. And then came the day when Morrigan transformed into a hawk. When she returned from scouting their trail, the golem had quite a bit to say about it.

"So the swamp witch is also a bird," Shale considered. "I should have known. I suggest the swamp witch take care where it perches."

"Stop calling me that!" Morrigan snapped. "Swamp witch indeed!"

"Very well, I shall call it the Swamp Warden. It will be part of the complete set: The Elder Warden, the Younger Warden, the Swamp Warden, the Talkative Warden, and the Dog Warden. So charming."

Loghain ground his teeth, and finally said, "_Must _you call me the Elder Warden? I hardly think my age is my defining characteristic."

Too smoothly, Shale replied, "Very well, it shall be as the Grumpy Warden desires."

Maude cleared her throat, and smirked at Loghain.

"I don't think I'm _that_ talkative," Anders complained. "Am I?"

Loghain and Morrigan snorted in unison, and then looked at one another uneasily. Maude smirked again.

"It is constantly talking," Shale declared. "Except in combat, when it squeals loudly and spurts fluids. And, of course, when it is coupling with the Swamp Warden."

"Er, Shale.." Maude began gently. "It is not really the done thing in polite society to take about other people's...er...couplings."

"Is this polite society? Interesting. I was under the impression that I was associating with Grey Wardens. They couple so frequently that it surprising that they find time to fight the darkspawn. However, just as the Younger Warden pleases. A curious phenomenon, nonetheless. I watched many couplings during the time I spent immobile in Honnleath. Or should I say I was forced to watch? You do know that this often ends in reproduction? I have seen it many times."

Morrigan snarled, "Well, you won't be seeing it here!"

"I don't know," Anders considered, as he jogged along on his nervous horse. "It's not such a terrible thought. Creating a new life might be a great deal of fun."

"Then you," Morrigan said testily, "are welcome to feed and wipe all the squalling infants _you_ care to give birth to. I have better things to do." She said to Shale, "Coupling is interesting to you, is it? I fear you are destined only to watch. Any lover of yours would be ground to powder directly."

"Hmm," Shale said, unfazed. "The Swamp Warden sees me winning the affections of another golem? Most golems are slaves to whomever holds their control rod."

"It's exactly the same for humans," Anders assured him. Morrigan shot a quick blue spark of lightning at him, and shifted to bird form, skimming just over Shale's head.

* * *

They found the Imperial Highway after three days. Travel became easier and swifter, and they made good time as they skirted Redcliffe. Loghain had almost allowed himself to believe that they would have no difficulty reaching Orzammar within the week, when the skies opened and the air turned white with snow. Just a dusting, at first, but the weather was threatening. Loghain had camped in winter in the past, and had no particular desire to risk it again.

"We have to consider the horses, even if we can cope," he said. "We're not far from the Sulcher River Bridge. It looks like we'll have to shelter in that village of yours, Maude."

Morrigan grimaced in disgust, and Maude shrugged.

"There are plenty of houses, as I remember. Most of them are probably uninhabited. There might even be provisions there that are still usable. We can get there in half a day, since we have the secret trail marked on our map. All right then, Haven it is. Our provisions should hold out fine for a few days. Sorry to delay our trip to Orzammar, Shale."

"_I _require no supplies or provisions," Shale pointed out virtuously. "Nor does the cold trouble me. So unfortunate for you lot, being the soft, squishy things you are!"

The trail climbed up the foothills of the Frostbacks, clinging to the river. If the weather had not been so unpleasant, Loghain would have found the the country rather beautiful. Rapids and little waterfalls made an eerie music of their own. There were astonishing rock formations, and at one point, the trail led them through a natural tunnel in the hills. Without the map, one would think the hill impenetrable. As it was, there was plenty of room for riders on horseback moving in single file, and even Shale could get through without smashing against the walls. Then they started moving up again.

"Haven is essentially on three level," Maude told him. "It's even steeper than Redcliffe. The Chantry is at the very top, and that's where one can access the narrow trail to the old temple. It's nearly a two days journey from the village, and pretty hard going. We'll have to climb pretty high just to reach the village."

Morrigan flew ahead and saw no signs of hostile activity. They pressed upward and onward, and finally saw some small, scattered buildings.

"No guard," Maude said to Morrigan. "It looks quiet here. "See there, Loghain! That's the path up to the next lot of houses. The store was up there, too..."

"Look!" Anders cried.

There were people further up the hill, coming down slowly: mostly women and children. The children were sobbing loudly, and their terrified mothers were trying to quiet them. Loghain looked around for the menfolk: not drawing his sword, but ready for an attack. The approaching group could not be much more than two dozen, but it was hard to tell, since some were babes in arms. Maude cocked her head, eyes bright with curiosity, and stepped out to speak to the villagers.

Before she could say anything, they fell to their knees-every one of them- and a woman cried, "Spare us your wrath, Mighty One! We come before you in submission. We beg you, O Most Glorious! Let our children live, at least!"

"They mean _me!" _Maude whispered to Loghain, highly delighted at her reception. To the terrified villagers, she gave a friendly wave. "It's quite all right. Don't kill any of me, and I won't kill any of you!"

More groveling ensued.

_"-She forgives!'"_

_"-She forgives!" _

_"-Her mercy is boundless!"_

_"-O Radiant Avatar of the Beloved!"_

Anders remarked, "You certainly made an impression, I'd say. Any chance we might get food and a roof? The compliments are nice and all, but..."

Maude was enjoying herself entirely too much. Loghain thought this sort of fulsome praise very bad for her, and he called out, "Enough! We require food and shelter and a stable for our horses."

There were some frightened whispers. The village women looked at each other in bewilderment.

_"-Could that be _him_?"_

_"-But didn't he-?"_

_"-Sssh! She has forgiven us our transgressions. Why would She not forgive him as well?"_

_"-Oh, to have lived long enough to see this!"_

"No, really!" Maude spoke over the clamor. "The snow's really about to come down. Isn't there somewhere we could stay?"

The village moved forward as one, and swept along beside them, not even cowering away from the fearsome presence of Shale. They were led up and up, in a kind of holiday procession, all the way to the top of the hill, and to a large, handsome, and rather old-fashioned Chantry. The few remaining men ran ahead to throw open the doors. The Wardens were not even allowed to dismount, but rode into the sacred precinct, horses, mule, golem, and all. Maude looked around her, beaming, enjoying the adulation, and then her smile froze. Loghain glanced over to what she was seeing, and then did a double-take.

There was a pretty good likeness of Maude in armor, done in some sort of local pigment, drawn up there on the back wall of the Chantry. Flowers and candles surrounded it.

Anders uttered a single incredulous laugh. Luckily,the villagers were already making too much noise to notice it. Morrigan caught his eye and glared at him. It took Loghain every ounce of willpower not to bury his head in his hands.

The villagers were helping Maude from her horse and carrying her, as in a triumphant chariot, to the very apse of the Chantry. They set her there, and she stood, looking at them all, glowing with pride and pleasure. There was a sudden hush, and the villagers waited for her to say something.

She did not fail them. Her lovely voice, pitched to carry, rolled forth with the Chant of Light: words well-known to Loghain, but forgotten by the cultists.

"_These truths the Maker has revealed to me:_  
_As there is but one world, _  
_One life, one death, there is _  
_But one god, and He is our Maker._  
_They are sinners, who have given their love_  
_To false gods..."_

Much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Some beating of breasts, too. Loghain rolled his eyes, glad that Leliana was not here to be scandalized by this spectacle. Ranger had pushed to the front, and sat very straight, panting happily, taking for granted that nothing could be more natural than for Maude to be worshiped. Anders had straightened in the saddle, and was watching Maude anxiously. He was no lover of the Chantry. Why then, did he look so concerned? Then he relaxed, and Loghain understood. Maude had skipped the verse castigating mages, and had gone on to the one following:

_"All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,_  
_From the lowest slaves_  
_To the highest kings._  
_Those who bring harm_  
_Without provocation to the least of His children_  
_Are hated and accursed by the Maker. _

_The stranger is to be as your brother or sister. Slice him not into bite-sized pieces..."_

Loghain listened in horror, as Maude created a tailor-made version of the Chant for Haven.

She put on quite a show. Not a long one, for they were tired and hungry, and the horses needed seeing to, so Maude improvised a verse about that, too.

_"The righteous man shows kindness to his beasts: to his horse and hound, to his ox and lamb, yea, even unto his very mule..."_

It transpired there was nothing too good for Andraste's horses and mule. They were to be cared for reverently, right there in the narthex of the Chantry. Maude took a quick look about, and crowed with delight.

"Look! The secret room is still locked up! It's full of interesting books." She asked the closest woman. "There is a library beyond that wall. Hasn't anyone been using it?"

The woman bowed low, arms crossed on her breast. "You do me honor to speak to me, Lady. No, no one has touched the books since your overthrow of the false Andraste and her blasphemous priests."

"Good," Maude said. "My disciples there-" she pointed to a flabbergasted Anders and an amused Morrigan "need a place to stay. I'll open the room, and I want you to put a bed in there, and everything else for their comfort."

More bowing and scraping. A bit of kneeling, too. Loghain watched it all with a curious feeling of unreality. Maude was actually pretending to be Andraste. They were all going to burn in hell.

She wasted no timei n picking the lock to the secret door. Part of the wall slid aside, revealing a large library, dusty and deserted, but obviously well used at one time. Maude said to Anders, "See if there's a copy of the Chant of Light in here. If there is, bring it to me so I can edit it."

His jaw dropped. He shut it abruptly, and laughed nervously. "Fine. One Chant of Light, coming up."

Loghain murmured in her ear. "You're going to _edit _the Chant of Light."

"Why not?" Maude gazed at him, innocent as a kitten. "The Chantry does it all the time. Haven't you ever heard of the Dissonant Verses? No? Those are the parts of the Chant that the Chantry periodically cuts out because they no longer fit in with their political agenda. For example, they cut Thane Shartan, elven hero and Friend of Andraste, right out of the Chant a few hundred years ago, so screw them. Besides," she declared, "I passed Andraste's tests! I was proved worthy, which is more than that la-di-da Divine in Val Royeaux can claim. I've actually been in the presence of Andraste-even though she was ashes at the time-so I think I'm more of an authority on Andraste than any Chantry goon."

There was a large and comfortable bedchamber off to the side of the Chantry, to which Maude-and Loghain and Ranger, too-were led by reverent villagers. One woman, bolder than the rest, touched Loghain on the arm.

"I had not expected to see you with her... I mean, after all that happened..."

It was annoying enough to hear this sort of thing from the nobles. Loghain had no patience with a Maude-worshiping stranger. "Yes, yes," he cut her off. "We settled our differences. We're fine now."

The woman looked at him in joyful wonder. "Then there is hope for us all. I am so glad she forgave you, General Maferath."

He was struck speechless. Maude turned her sweetest, most ironic smile in his direction. The people stood there, staring adoringly, until Loghain shut the door in their faces.

_

* * *

_Two days later, Loghain was deeply relieved when the snow stopped and they could leave for Orzammar. At first light, he rounded up Anders and Morrigan, and they forcibly put Maude on her horse and hastened away. Life in Haven had given him new and terrifying historical insights. It was now perfectly clear to him why Andraste's husband Maferath had got completely fed up and turned her over to the Tevinters. Marriage to a living goddess was creepy and horrible, and he could not wait to put Haven behind them. All the good that the simple life in Honnleath had done his young wife had been nullified by the adoration of these lunatics.

As they descended the hill toward the Imperial Highway, Shale remarked to him, "Most curious that squishy creatures would worship yet another squishy creature, rather than a being of true substance. I think the Grumpy Warden agrees with me. Just think: a single blow from me, and the Younger Warden would crumple, spilling liquid everywhere..."

Loghain snarled, "In such a case, you would presently find yourself reduced to paving stones. Very small ones."

"And it claims not to be a worshiper of the Younger Warden. That, too, is curious."

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: RakeeshJ4, Amhran Comhrac, Josie Lange, Shakespira, Sarah1281, icey cold, callalili, demonchick344, Prisoner 24601, Judy, Gene Dark, Enaid Aderyn, mutive, Zute, Fastforwarmotion, Phygmalion, Lehni, JackOfBladesX, mille libri, jenna53, Windchime68, Piceron, and Evalyne._

_After the blizzad last week, I felt the need to write about snow. I could have used the Wardens' magic and muscle shoveling out my driveway._


	20. Wardens in the Underworld

Big-time spoilers for _The Calling_ in the latter part of the chapter.

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 20: Wardens in the Underworld**

Maude chatted with the golem all the way to Orzammar. Not even gusting winds, intermittent snow, or freezing rain could quiet her curiosity-or Anders', for that matter. Shale's answers were invariably sarcastic, but ready enough.

Loghain pretended to be above it all, but it was actually rather interesting, and he eavesdropped shamelessly.

"Do you remember anything before you came to Honnleath?" Maude asked.

The golem sighed heavily. Loghain wondered how it managed to do that, since a creature of stone did not need to breath. Apparently the air intake was designed to enable the creature to speak. That, too, was puzzling, as Loghain could not remember the creature ever speaking when it was in Wilhelm's company.

"Oh, yes," Shale sneered. "Being little more than a glorified possession at the time, I traveled with my former master Wilhelm. He did a great deal of traveling. I remember fighting great battles, though I do not recall the presence of the Grumpy Warden. At any rate, Wilhelm decided to travel to the south, and we came to Honnleath. I remember my arrival quite well. How he enjoyed ordering me about to impress the villagers! _'Golem! Snarl at that man! Be fearsome!'_ and all that sort of thing."

"I'm sure you can be _extremely_ fearsome," Maude said, smoothly flattering. "But of course, that is not all there is to you. Before the battles—before you met Wilhelm, what do you recall?"

The creature was blessedly silent for a brief moment. "Not much," it admitted. "I was somewhere…dark. For a long time."

Anders asked, "Just how old are you, exactly?"

"I have no idea," Shale said. "Wilhelm used to brag that the dwarves stopped making golems centuries ago. I do not age as you soft creatures do, but my memory appears to be no better than yours. I get bored, and stop paying attention."

Maude was sympathetic. "I can quite understand you not liking Wilhelm much."

Shale chuckled, an odd scraping sound. "He fondled my control rod so much, his wife threatened to take it away from him and throw it in the lake. Ha! How I would have loved to see that." After a moment, the golem asked, "And how did it come upon my control rod, in fact?"

"Wilhelm's wife sold it—"

"Hag."

"And I bought it from a trader." Maude added, "For an absolute fortune!"

The golem was pleased at the thought. "Glad to know it can recognize a true bargain when it sees one!"

They rested the horses near a deserted hut, as they climbed further into the Frostbacks. The mages got a fire going, and they had a quick meal to sustain them for the last leg of the journey.

"What I don't understand, Shale," Anders remarked, between bites, "was how you came to meet a mage at all. How did Wilhelm find you?"

The golem, looming over them as they lounged by the fire, snorted expressively. "That I certainly can tell you, since Wilhelm went on about it often enough! He found me in the Deep Roads, in the ruins of a thaig, with my control rod not far away."

Loghain frowned. "What was he doing in the Deep Roads?"

"It was a hobby of his…scavenging," Shale sneered. Maude looked like she might protest, since she considered scavenging a perfectly legitimate hobby, but she let the golem have its say.

"He was always looking for forgotten entrances to the Deep Roads," Shale reminisced. "He'd go down and snatch up magical treasures, with no one the wiser."

"Morrigan and I have traveled quite a bit in the Deep Roads," Maude said. "Do you know where he found you?"

"No," the golem confessed, sounding very bitter. "Secretive bastard. I'd ask and ask, and Wilhelm told me that _someday_—if I didn't talk back to his hag of a wife- he'd take me back there and I could look around for myself. Rotten, lying bastard. If I had his head in my hands right now, I'd squeeze it like a lemon. _Squi—ish!"_

"But you _were_ in the Deep Roads," Maude persisted, tossing a piece of jerky to Ranger. "Do you remember what you were doing there?"

"I remember… a battle?" Shale sounded very uncertain. "Perhaps a battle. And then darkness, for a very long time. It hardly matters. If Wilhelm had never found me, I wouldn't have had to put up with the twit, or with his hag of a wife!"

* * *

Nothing at all about Orzammar was exactly as Loghain had pictured it. The mountains were more imposing, the entrance more impressive, and the great trading fair that lay just outside its gates far more extensive. Permanent structures trailed down the hills, and a good-sized village nestled in a high meadow. It was more a town than a village. While the Frostback Fair was reputedly held from the beginning of Cloudreach to Satinalia at the end of Harvestmere, there was still plenty of activity here in the middle of Firstfall. From the stout appearance of many of the buildings, there must be a sizable permanent population: mostly surface dwarves, who made their living acting as middlemen between Orzammar and the surface kingdoms of Thedas.

The Wardens had little trouble at this time of year finding a stable with room for their horses and mule, owned and operated by humans who clearly knew their business. Some of their belongings were locked away, but certain items of loot, Maude maintained, would fetch a better price in Orzammar than from the traders at the Fair, and these were taken with them. They climbed the approach to the mighty gates in the mountain, while Maude went on happily about the prospects before them.

"We should pop in on Bhelen, of course. It would be rude to visit and not to say hello. Let's pick up a lot of lyrium while we're here, too…"

The guard, not to Loghain's surprise, recognized Maude.

_"Atrast vala, _Warden. Welcome to Orzammar. You honor us with your presence,"

Maude threw Loghain a beaming, self-satisfied look, and turned to the guard. "It's wonderful to be back. Could word be sent to the King, apprising him of our arrival? We would like to pay our respects, at his convenience."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. Anders nudged her. With great ceremony, they were shown into an elaborate hall, and led to a pair of double doors. Loghain had heard of the mechanical lifts in Orzammar, which could bear heavy weights straight up and down a deep-delved shaft. There was the slightest of jolts, and he felt an unfamiliar sensation of lightness. He grimaced, wondering if he had left part of his stomach behind. Anders was as uneasy and uncomfortable as Loghain. At length, there was another faint jolt, and a sigh as metal met metal with the lightest of touches.

The doors opened, and the lift guard proclaimed, "Behold the Hall of Heroes!"

It was very vast, and very impressive, so Loghain refrained from remarking that for all that, it was really just a very big cave filled with statues. Lava poured down the wall and pooled in channels, shedding a red-gold light on the polished stone.

He had seen dwarven statuary before, in the Deep Roads, long ago. This was similar: massive, stylized, with no real attempt to convey a personal likeness. These statues were conceived to express the power of the dwarven Paragons, not to present them as they had been in life. Dwarves strolled about, pointing and speaking in reverent, hushed tones that echoed softly in an endless susurration. Maude enjoyed showing the sights to Loghain and Anders.

"That's Paragon Varen! He discovered that nugs were edible. They're not bad, actually, with extra sauce…That's Paragon Aeducan, who commanded the defenses of Orzammar against the first darkspawn invasion…Ooo, and that's Branka! I killed her. That's not what she's a Paragon for, of course. She invented a smokeless forge that the dwarves were absolutely thrilled about. After that, being a Paragon went to her head, and she tried to branch out as a Head of House and expedition commander. That didn't work out for her so well. So I killed her and took her stuff. She had a very nice shield. I got quite a bit for that."

"Any particular reason you killed her?" Anders asked, in a rather small voice.

Morrigan snorted, "She tried very hard to kill us!"

Maude nodded her agreement, and said to Anders, "It's an interesting story. I think Shale would find it so, certainly, since it has golems in it, and one had quite a bit to say."

"Another talking golem?" Shale was unwillingly drawn in. "Do tell!"

"I shall, I promise, once we all get settled. You should hear it in detail, from the beginning."

The vastness of the Hall of Heroes gave way to the vastness of the Commons: vastness of a different kind, full of shops built into the living rock, full of dwarves and bustle and loud voices. A number of them spotted the party of Wardens, and whispered, or chattered, or talked pretty loudly among themselves, about how _The Warden_ had given them their King.. Many pointed out Maude, and a few called, "Atrast Vala, Warden! Stone preserve you!"

It did not take Loghain long to realize that Maude was_ The Warden_ to the dwarves: the only Warden who mattered. She was a hero in Orzammar, a Kingmaker and a savior, and if she had been a dwarf, she would have been made a Paragon herself. The Wardens accompanying her were simply accessories, enhancing her glory. Maude, predictably, enjoyed the adulation a great deal. Her stride loosened to a swagger as they moved through the Commons. Her continuing Orzammar travelogue was periodically interrupted with little waves and greetings to her endless well-wishers.

The Commons was alive with buying and selling. Dwarves sold their wares at a multitude of booth in the…street? It seemed odd to think of these vast enclosed halls as streets, but so they were. Arms, jewels, surface silks, imported delicacies for the wealthy: everything appeared to be for sale in Orzammar. Probably, Loghain imagined sourly, everything _was._

Ahead, a long causeway led over another lava stream to a door at the end. Maude paused in her triumphal progress, and cocked her head.

"That's the way to the Proving Grounds, where the dwarves go for entertainment. We should go while we're here and see the fights. We didn't have time when we were last here. I think it would be educational."

"You _would_," Loghain muttered, but not with any real opposition to the idea. Yes, everyone knew about the dwarves and their duels, but it gave their warriors practice, and was no different than the tournaments in the world above. To be honest, he would have to admit that he would like to see a Proving himself.

"That's Tapster's," Maude told him, pointing out a door with the sign of a foaming mug above it. "It's a pretty good tavern. They have surface ale there for ridiculous prices, but I'm sure I can get someone else to pay for the drinks."

That was only too likely, and they were moving in that general direction when Maude's attention was claimed by another group of admirers. Not wanting to witness more Maude-toadying, Loghain's eye was caught by an armorer's stall, and a pair of exquisite silverite bracers, intricately chased with geometric designs and studded with jewels.

He drifted closer for a better look. They were the sort of thing that Anora could wear with her hunting leathers. Not that Anora cared a bit for hunting, but well-meaning nobles persisted in entertaining her at their estates with hunts. Now that she was married again, there would undoubtedly be even more hunting parties. These bracers were quite splendid. Anyway, he ought to bring Anora a nicer present than Cailan's ashes in a tea jar.

The merchant, squat and truculent, saw his interest and declared, "Surface gold is always welcome. The price is five sovereigns."

Loghain shrugged, and was about to reach for his coin purse, when the merchant saw Maude chatting nearby. The dwarf's eyes widened, and he peered at the griffons on Loghain's armor. He hastily said, "For companions of the Warden, three sovereigns, fifty silver."

Maude must have overheard. She flashed a naughty smile at Loghain, and winked.

The merchant harumphed. "For _special friends_ of the Warden, two sovereigns."

Loghain growled, his face unaccountably hot. The deal was made, and Maude was claiming his attention, wanting him to meet the dwarves she had been talking to.

"Loghain, this is Lord Vartag Gavorn, First Deshyr to the King of Orzammar. His Majesty is so gracious as to offer us his hospitality."

They were to stay at the Palace; they were to have a private audience; they were to be guests at a banquet that very night. Maude was a celebrity in Orzammar, and even the King wished to make much of her. Loghain resigned himself to it. At least the dwarves did not actually_ worship_ her. Loghain did not much like the looks of this Vartag Gavorn, who seemed a typically greasy, influence-peddling court parasite, but the dwarf was positively deferential to Loghain.

"And the Dragonslayer himself! This is an occasion! Our warriors have carried home the tales of your mighty deeds!" He looked closer at Loghain's armor. The other dwarves followed suit. "This is…" he whispered.

"Oh, yes!" Maude assured them cheerfully. "It's fashioned from the remains of the Archdemon. So is Morrigan's armor, for that matter. Splendid stuff, really. So we're off to the Diamond Quarter? You'll like it Loghain: it's quite gorgeous."

A mob of flunkies relieved them of their packs and followed in their train. Another grand set of doors led to another lift. Loghain supposed he would get used to them in time. The doors opened on another cavern. This one was cleaner, more polished, and even more elaborately adorned. Maric had told him about the Diamond Quarter, the district which claimed the houses of the nobles, the Royal Palace, the Assembly, and the Shaperate, which was the library and archive of the dwarven peoples. Quite honestly, the Shaperate interested him the most, and was probably the last place they would be given the chance to visit.

The guest quarters were luxurious: far more so than their counterpart at the palace in Denerim.

"This is nice," Maude declared. "I've always liked these rooms."

"You've stayed here before?" Anders asked.

"No, but I killed somebody who was staying here, so I saw them then. They're very nice."

It was a very large suite of rooms, off a long hall. The various sleeping and living areas were separated by elegant stone and metal screening, rather than by walls and doors. Only the splendid bathing room had a door. Maude delighted in showing them how the runes could be manipulated to issue hot water.

"Dwarves have the best bathrooms in all Thedas," she declared.

"'Tis true," Morrigan agreed. "Too true for debate. Must we change to meet the King, or can we merely wipe our armor?"

"Oh, definitely wiped armor, here in Orzammar," Maude said. "Maybe something else for the banquet, but definitely armor for the audience." She patted Ranger. "I brought your gold-studded collar, darling boy. You can wear that to see the King!"

A team of dwarven servitors arrived and began busily polishing any weapon or piece of armor not actually being worn at the moment. It was best to leave them to it. Sleeping alcoves were chosen, and they unarmed with relief.

"Come on, Loghain!" Maude shooed Anders and Morrigan away, and began pulling off his dragonbone plate. "Let's have a lovely bath!"

"We should get a lovely bath, too!" Anders complained, holding the door open.

Maude laughed and shut the door in his face. "Wait your turn!"

Anders pounded the wall, shouting, "And don't have sex in the bathtub, either!"

* * *

Several pounds lighter after removing the dirt, the Wardens were guided to the private audience room of the King of Orzammar. Shale was left behind with several large volumes and a device to turn the pages. Maude had decided that if they brought Shale with them to the audience, the King might imagine that the golem was intended as a present. Loghain was quite curious about Bhelen.

"Warden! Your visit is an unexpected honor!" He was tall for a dwarf, and his nose was absolutely the largest that Loghain had ever seen. Considering that his own nose was not exactly small, that was saying something. A vigorous dwarf, whose hair reminded Loghain unpleasantly of someone or something, but he could not quite place the resemblance.

"And the Dragonslayer himself!" The King greeted Loghain. "Welcome to Orzammar! My compliments to your daughter, the beautiful Queen Anora. And may I congratulate you on your recent marriage?"

Maude beamed. Loghain supposed it was inevitable that the dwarven king would know about them. It was undoubtedly in all the diplomatic correspondence. He wondered what the various Heads of State had made of it.

The king recognized Morrigan, and welcomed her back to the dwarven kingdom. Anders was greeted kindly, and complimented on his recent recruitment into such a distinguished order as the Grey Wardens.

"And so, Warden," his keen eyes fixed on Maude, "I cannot help but wonder what brings you here."

"Your Majesty!" Maude's voice was sweet and sincere. "After all our two peoples have been through together, I felt uneasy until I knew how Orzammar was faring since the end of the Blight."

Bhelen relaxed—minutely—but Loghain spotted it. Clearly, the dwarven king had been expecting some sort of demand.

"The slaying of the Archdemon," Bhelen answered, with a nod to Loghain, "has given us a reprieve, however brief it may be. Our scouts and the Legion of the Dead report much less darkspawn activity in the Deep Roads than normal. We are hoping to take back some of the thaigs before they can build their numbers up again."

"Aeducan Thaig, I would imagine, would be the best chance for that," Maude said.

Bhelen smiled at her, very pleased. "Exactly. Our craftsmen are at work with a new set of barrier doors. If we can hold off the darkspawn for even a few months, I believe we can make the thaig defensible."

He unbent enough to pull out a map of the Deep Roads nearest Orzammar, and spread it out on his elaborate greenstone writing table. Loghain leaned over to study it. It was astonishingly detailed.

A thick finger traced the various routes. "Here is Aeducan Thaig, and here are the Roads west to Caridin's Cross, and then down to Ortan Thaig. I understand that you, too, Warden Loghain, have explored Ortan Thaig."

"I have, Your Majesty, many years ago."

"We are sending a surveying team there in ten days time. Perhaps you Wardens would care to share your knowledge?"

* * *

"I told you so," said Morrigan, over breakfast. A very late breakfast, probably not at what they would consider morning, for the King's banquet had lasted a very, very, _very_ long time. Breakfast consisted of a rather strange porridge and some sort of eggs. Not bad, but…odd.

Luckily, Anders had cured everyone's hangovers. Loghain was extremely pleased that they had had the sense to recruit someone so useful.

"You did," Maude said equably. "You were absolutely right. Mind you, I knew we'd have to sing for our supper, so to speak. We do know Ortan Thaig, and it's not all that far. Before our departure, we can spend some time in the Shaperate, and have a perfect excuse to copy maps and make notes."

Anders was still trying to figure out the eggs. They were a little larger than chicken's eggs, and the yolk was bright blue. The "white" was a unappetizing shade of grey. They tasted all right though, and the Wardens scarfed them down with gusto.

"Deepstalker," Maude said. "Yes, they're deepstalker eggs. There weren't a lot of them in Ortan Thaig, that I remember anyway, but simply mobs of them in the Aeducan Thaig. The dwarves must have cleared them out."

"Or domesticated them," Morrigan suggested. "We saw them in pens somewhere."

"You're right!" Maude agreed.

"Eggs?" Shale remarked, leaning over the table with scraping noise. "Eggs suggest the existence of the birds in the Deep Roads. That is disturbing. I thought I would be secure from birds—other than the Swamp Warden."

"Deepstalkers aren't really birds," Maude assured the golem. "They don't have feathers and they can't fly, so you don't have to worry about unwanted perching. They're sort of like vicious, flightless, featherless chickens, but they couldn't possible do _you_ any harm."

"That is very good to know. I confess I am looking forward to this exploration of the Deep Roads. I may find some clue to my past."

"I'm sure we shall," Maude agreed, scooping up another egg. Ranger rested his muzzle on the tabletop, and turned pitiful eyes up to Loghain.

"Oh, all right, you beggar."

A happy bark.

"In fact, I have been remarkably patient," Shale said, after the meal was over. "Now that the Younger Warden has glutted itself, copulated numerous times with the Grumpy Warden, and slept for tedious hours, perhaps it can manage to tell me about this other talking golem it met. Does it know where this golem is now? Would it be possible to meet it?"

"Shale, you have a silver tongue," Maude laughed. "But yes, I ought to tell you this story. No, alas, the other golem is gone. It threw itself into a river of molten lava shortly after we met, but before that, it told me something of its story. The golem in fact, had once been Caridin, Master Smith and Paragon of Orzammar."

Morrigan, who had been there, was more interested in her cup of herb tea, brewed by herself from surface herbs that smelled of sunlight. She merely said, "He was extremely full of himself, considering that he was yet another who demanded that we sort out his problems for him."

"Poor old Caridin wasn't so bad," Maude remonstrated. "Tell me Shale, do you remember anything before you were a golem?"

Shale was briefly silent, and then said, "Is it implying that I was once something other than a golem?"

"You certainly were. When I was last here, Bhelen sent us to the Deep Roads to look for the Paragon Branka, since he felt a Paragon's support would clinch his claim to the throne. She, in turn, was looking for something called the Anvil of the Void. She went completely bonkers, and killed her own people looking for it. We met this Caridin beyond the Dead Trenches," Maude explained. "and he had been turned into a golem. I also read his research notes. Caridin built the Anvil of the Void, which he then used when he invented golems. Well, not to put too fine a point on it, he used living beings."

"Squishy creatures like yourself? I find that unlikely and more than a little insulting."

"Well, dwarves aren't quite as squishy as humans, but yes. The process would have been very…traumatic."

"Clearly, you believe me to have once been a dwarf. Describe this process."

"Are you sure you want me to?" Maude asked, sympathetically. "It's quite awful, and it might trigger painful memories."

"I do not feel pain. Continue the narration."

"All right. According to Caridin's notes, the living person is enclosed in a stone or metal shell, and then molten lyrium is poured in through a hole in the top. Caridin wrote that the subject screamed quite horribly. And he didn't like it a bit when it was done to him!"

"Why?" asked Anders. "I mean, why was it done to him?"

"Originally," Maude told them, "only volunteers became golems. With the onslaught of the darkspawn, the dwarven kingdom was in a desperate state. Thaig after thaig fell, and the dwarves needed a miracle to hold off this unanticipated threat. Caridin devised a solution: immortal warriors of stone and steel that were impervious to the Taint. He could not create new life, so he found a way—his fabled Anvil of the Void- to transform the living into golems. After some time, the volunteers were not enough, and the king decided to use the process as a punishment for political enemies. Caridin objected, and ended up on the Anvil himself. He rebelled, and hid the Anvil away, so no one else would suffer as he had. Anyway, when I found him, he begged me to destroy the Anvil, which he was unable to do. Branka wanted the Anvil for herself, and obviously couldn't be trusted with it, since she was a complete and utter loon. So I killed Branka, and made a deal with Caridin to support the King of my choice. Bhelen wanted a Paragon, and he got one. Just not the one he asked for."

"Interesting. I remember nothing of this. I do not remember being covered in molten lyrium. That sounds rather disagreeable. A dwarf, you say? And not as squishy as a human?"

"No, indeed!" Maude said, utter conviction in her voice. "That is why dwarves are called 'the stout folk!' They are very hardy and resilient. In fact," her voice lowered to confide her most thrilling news, "it might be possible to find out your identity!"

"Oh!" Morrigan scoffed, remembering. "You mean that monument we saw with all the names."

"Absolutely!" Maude agreed. "I took a rubbing of it and gave it to the Shaper of Memories in Orzammar. It might be possible to find your name-if you're interested."

Shale said, "I confess myself intrigued by the idea of another identity-a past. Perhaps the answers can be found in the Deep Roads. We must look!"

* * *

They visited the Shaperate first.

The elderly Shaper of Memories greeted them all with great courtesy, and assured them that their visit had been included in the Memories of Orzammar. His usual calm cracked a little at the sight of Shale.

"A golem! Most interesting. We have few golems left, and maintain them meticulously. I would give you a good price for one such as this, Warden."

Shale spoke up, the rumbling voice sonorous with distaste. "I would rather throw myself into boiling lava, since that is the done thing when golems commit suicide."

"Pity," said the Shaper, rather startled at hearing a golem speak.

"We couldn't possibly sell Shale," Maude said kindly. "Shale is a free golem, with a mind of its own…as you see from the insults. Shale is a sentient being, to be recruited as an ally, not to be bought like a tool."

"I…see…" the Shaper regarded the golem with considerable interest. "This is a new thing, and will be recorded in the Memories."

"Perhaps we could see that rubbing I brought back," Maude coaxed. "Shale here is very interested in learning about its origins."

"I have transcribed the data into a codex, and will have it brought to you at once. Please, make yourself comfortable at the reading table of your choice."

Loghain felt they had other priorities. "We also would like to see any maps of the Deep Roads, and any archives concerning the nature of darkspawn."

The Shaper nodded approvingly. "We have much to share, and will do so willingly."

"_Much" _was an understatement. Volumes were stacked on the table, and the tall stacks tottered precariously. Morrigan frowned, and chose a work on the early days of the darkspawn invasions.

Loghain smiled slightly at the pleasure of the huge tome of Deep Road maps that was placed in his hands. Many of the maps folded out for several feet, and many were fragile with age. From the pack he had brought, he pulled out good-quality parchment, a number of colored inks, measuring tools, and several quills with nibs of various widths. This was an opportunity not to be wasted. He would examine the maps carefully, and copy the most useful of them.

Anders whispered to a Shaper's Assistant, "Can you bring me something about rune-crafting?"

"What a wonderful idea!" Maude said, eyes gleaming. "Learn all you can about those hot-water runes. I want them for Soldier's Peak!"

Meanwhile, the codex containing the names on the golem memorial was brought to Maude, and the appropriate pages opened for her. Shale leaned over, interested.

They were quiet for some time, absorbed in their work. Maude eventually sighed. "This is incomplete. Sorry, Shale. Nothing seems familiar to you?"

"The names of some of the thaigs, certainly. Here, you see, they list _'eight from House Vollney, three from House Cadash, two from House Dace.'_ This inscription is abbreviated, and seems to be a partial copy from a larger original."

"I think you're right." Maude nodded thoughtfully. "Out there somewhere is a complete listing of all those who became golem—unless King Voltar didn't allow the political enemies to be listed. That's possible. He might not have wanted their families to know what became of them."

No one was permitted to eat or drink in the Shaperate. Just before they adjourned for what they were pleased to call a midday meal, a note was delivered to Maude.

"It's from the King," she told them quietly. "Everything's moving along for the Deep Roads expedition, and they're taking care of the supplies. The day before, there will be a Proving, held in our honor. We'll be up in the King's Seats, and it should be quite the spectacle." She smirked, glancing at the note. "Bhelen's full of information about the participants, and about how essential they are to the defense of Orzammar."

Loghain grunted, carefully capping his array of inks. "He doesn't want us conscripting anyone."

She shrugged. "I believe you're right. I suppose I understand it, the city being still so unsettled. Underpopulated too. I wouldn't dream of stealing any of Bhelen's precious warrior caste, much less the sons of worthy deshyrs."

"We could recruit amongst the casteless, I suppose," Morrigan remarked.

Maude looked glum. "I would too, if they didn't all hate me down there. _You_ know why, Morrigan. You were there when we cleaned out the Carta's hideout, and if you'll remember, it was not a popular move. Awfully good fighters, though. In fact, Bhelen and his hoity-toity deshyrs wouldn't like to hear this, but the best dwarven warrior I ever saw, bar none, was casteless. Even better than Branka…and Oghren, too, so this goes no further than the six of us."

"You are including the dog?" Shale queried.

"He's a Warden," Maude answered firmly. "I keep no secrets from the Wardens."

"Hear, hear," Anders said. Ranger wagged his stubby tail.

"Anyway," Maude went on, "the best warrior here in Orzammar was casteless. A woman named Jarvia, who was the head of the Carta—the criminal organization that our party wiped out at Bhelen's behest. She was really something—in fact, I put her right up there among the best warriors I've ever seen anywhere. Really first class. The dwarves are crazy not to allow the casteless into the army. She would have glittered like a jewel, if she hadn't been forced to be a criminal by her own people. Sad, I suppose."

"But you did kill her," Loghain pointed out.

"Absolutely no choice," Maude agreed. "A condition for honoring the treaties. I killed her, and took her stuff—_all_ her stuff—and immense amounts of valuable stuff it was. She was really something, I can tell you."

* * *

"_And the winner is…Adal Helmi, eldest daughter of Lady Helmi!"_

Unlike the Shaperate, one could eat and drink to wretched excess at the Provings. Indeed, one was encouraged to do so. Excellent wines and ales from the surface were in plentiful supply. Trays of delicacies were on constant offer by discreet, well-trained servitors. It was all understandable, since the Provings lasted for hours and hours.

"She's very good," Maude commented. She flashed a sweet smile to the King. "Very good indeed. Strength and speed, and uncommon agility. Her family must be very proud of her."

Bhelen gestured an expansive agreement, and tossed back more ale. "Her mother's pride and her father's joy. Fit for the greatest in Orzammar, as they're so fond of saying. Fine girl. I suspect they will arrange something with the heir of House Bemot. She's someone that Orzammar cannot afford to lose."

Loghain kept his face expressionless. Maude said only, "We quite understand, Your Majesty."

They understood more than Bhelen might imagine. It was clear to Loghain that Bhelen did not want this Helmi girl recruited into the Wardens. It was also clear that the family was hoping for a royal marriage for her. There was as yet no Queen in Orzammar.

Bhelen had a son by a casteless concubine. The Wardens were quartered not far from the royal nursery, where the child reportedly lived with his mother and grandmother, and was carefully guarded at all times. The concubine was not on display today. Perhaps Bhelen did not dare try the temper of his nobles by ensconcing such a girl in the King's Seats. It seemed unlikely that he would dare to name her Queen, however much he doted on her.

Maude was forthright enough to ask, "I see children here today. When will Your Majesty's son begin attending the Provings?"

Bhelen's smile became genuine. It changed his face to a startling degree. "Next year. By next year he'll be old enough to sit up and start taking it all in. Otherwise, I might have to put it off for another year or two. But he should be all right by next year."

"I've heard that he's a fine lad."

"The finest!" Bhelen sat back, in high content.

To the Wardens' surprise, the Provings were not over. There were now a series of team competitions: four against four. To their further surprise, the teams were not composed entirely of dwarves.

"I think…" Anders muttered. His voice rose. "I do know him! That mage! He's four years older than I am, and he was sent out on a Circle contract to serve Bann Fandarel. He must have done a runner! Angus!"

Morrigan, mortified, hushed him. "Do not halloo at the teams, Anders. 'Tis most inappropriate!"

"Everyone else is hallooing! Angus! Oi! Up here! Yes, it's me!"

Anders' mage friend looked up, recognized Anders, waved, and was promptly knocked down by his opponent.

"Oops," Anders muttered. "Sorry."

Angus survived though, and his team made it to the semifinals before they were carried off the field to the healers. There were other mages in the contest, and even elves. If you could fight and were not officially casteless, you could enter a Proving.

"I never thought of this!" Anders whispered eagerly to Morrigan. "I always planned to go to Tevinter. I could have gone to Orzammar instead to escape the Chantry! It's not even all that far."

Morrigan answered impatiently, "And then you would have been buried underground for the rest of your life! If you wished never to see the sun again, you could have remained in your tower. Coming here hardly seems an improvement."

Loghain glared at her, hoping the King had not overheard. Luckily, His Majesty was on his feet, roaring his delight at a knock-down blow. Morrigan accepted the rebuke, and shut her mouth in a thin line of disapproval.

Anders muttered to her, "_Any_ place with no Templars is an improvement!"

* * *

Loghain could not believe that he was being dragged off to the Ortan Thaig again. It was a place with a special meaning in his past: a special meaning of which Maude knew nothing.

When he thought back on it, he had to admit there was something rather gruesome about the fact that he and Rowan became lovers there. Of all the places in all Thedas for a brave and beautiful warrior woman to lose her virginity, Ortan Thaig must be the least…romantic? Appealing? _Clean?_

And yet they had loved each other, and found some measure of solace in each other's arms there. The taint of the Deep Roads had certainly not put Maric off Katriel. That _bitch._ Rowan had needed _something_ to take her mind off her royal betrothed and his Orlesian elf lover rutting like rabbits at every halt.

As always, the memory of Katriel put him in a foul mood. Maude noticed his scowl.

"Are you all right? It should be interesting for you, seeing Ortan Thaig again."

"_Very_ interesting," he growled.

At the entrance to the Deep Roads, they were met by a regiment of the Legion of the Dead, led by Commander Kardol himself.

Kardol greeted Maude with the quiet camaderie of warriors who have faced a danger unknown to all but a few. He was respectful of Loghain, as the slayer of the Archdemon. For the commander of the Legion of the Dead, he was positively _gushing._ They moved out, seeing no darkspawn, and at the beginning of the fifth march, they arrived at Ortan Thaig.

It had been thirty years since Loghain had seen this place, and he was glad of his fine new map, for nothing but the Blighted filth festooning the walls looked familiar. Some light gleamed eerily from the phosphorescent lichen that still gleamed from the bits not overcome by taint. More light was shed by rows of ancient crystals, many of which still functioned.

Maude pointed out two chambers on the map. "We saw giant spiders there…and there. Even if the darkspawn have withdrawn, it's possible we'll come across the spiders again."

"Joy." Loghain grimaced

There were quite a few, as it happened. They were dispatched by sword, by arrow, by ice, by fire, and by the smashing blows of the golem Shale. The cocoons that dangled from the ceiling were burned, since Kardol told them that there was where the eggs were laid. Most of the cocoons contained dead darkspawn, and no one mourned for them. Not all of them did, of course. A mummified dwarf slid out of one, hitting the stones with a muffled crackling. Ranger snuffled at the body and jumped back, disgusted. The cocoons flamed like torches, and sometimes trinkets and coin rained down among the ashes, purified and gleaming.

They collected and distributed the loot, and moved into a series of narrow tunnels that led to the thaig proper: tall, shattered houses, and the remains of twisting streets.

Maude paused at a tunnel that led off the main chamber. Loghain glanced at his map. There was a small chamber that way, with no outlet.

"Something important over there?" he called.

She looked back at him, her face unreadable. "Not really. I just want to check it out."

Before he could stop her, she had trotted away, Ranger at her heels. He swore, and followed.

It was dark, but for some patches of the phosphorescent lichen that still remained. Loghain struggled with a crystal embedded in the wall. After some adjustment, a thin blue glow illuminated the chamber.

"No," sighed Maude. "He's gone. Poor old Ruck." She peered at the bones that scattered the floor. She kicked away some trash, and picked up a skull. "I knew him, Loghain. A tainted little dwarf, well on his way to becoming a ghoul, but he still helped us quite a bit. He was in hiding after killing a man, and traded with us when we were on our way to the Dead Trenches. He knew I was tainted, too. Spotted it instantly, but was quite nice about it."

_"Once you take in the darkness, you not miss the light so much. You know, do you not? Ruck sees you, he sees the darkness inside you."_

She turned the skull to face her. "Hello, Ruck! How's business in Ortan Thaig? Got plenty of shinies for me?"

"The dwarf is dead?" Morrigan said, coming forward. "How could he not be? Nasty little creature, talking about how your hair smelled. I daresay you're here to look through his things. He had quite the cache."

"Of course!" Maude set the skull down gently, and began prying open the collection of chests against the far wall. A great deal of fine dwarven armor was shared out among the Legion. Maude took only an etched piece of silver, "for a keepsake."

Kardol was pleased with his new shield. They camped there and slept, while Shale prowled the edges of their camp. Loghain awoke to see the golem standing directly over him.

"You want something?"

"Umm…This place is…familiar," Shale rumbled out, very slowly.

Maude stirred, and blinked herself to consciousness. "Familiar? You recognize something?"

"I am not certain. There is a place…a cavern not far from here…I can mark the location on its map. I am most curious to know what we shall find."

Loghain got up and rummaged through his maps, showing each to Shale. The golem hesitated, and then pointed.

Maude read the name. "That is a place called Cadash Thaig."

"Cadash Thaig!" Kardol shook his head. "No one has set foot there in ages."

"I have existed for ages," Shale pointed out. "I feel certain there is something important there."

* * *

Cadash Thaig was deep under the Frostbacks. They traveled southwest from Ortan Thaig for two marches, and then due south for three. After that, the Deep Roads branched off suddenly, and led them into a strange new world.

Nearby hot springs and phosphorescent lichen combined to create a mysterious green land, surprisingly verdant and well-lit. A river ran through it. It, too, was green, and a warm mist rose up, softening the thaig's broken corners and bone-littered streets.

"This is it. Cadash Thaig. I am looking for something here, I know it. These ruins are always overrun by vermin, but there may be something noteworthy further in. Was this a home, once? Did I live here?"

Kardol and his men whispered to each other as they moved past the deserted stone buildings. Cadash Thaig had been a large settlement, and was in surprisingly good condition. Kardol was agreeing with his legionnaires that their report would urge future expeditions here.

They heard the darkspawn cackling before they saw them: a standard cluster of genlock archers and hurlock swordsmen. An emissary threw weak spells at them and was instantly targeted by their own mages. Shale, unaffected by the spells at all, simply trundled forward and squished the mage to a nasty Tainted paste. The creatures were slaughtered in short order.

A high wailing burst out of the shadows…

Ranger growled, and then burst into a ferocious baying.

"Shrieks!" Maude shouted.

The things fell upon them from behind, rearing up to claw at them: grotesque monsters with attenuated, pointed ears and sharp teeth, uttering unearthly, whooping calls. It was a strong pack of five with a powerful leader. Loghain had little experience with shrieks. He had not seen many of them, even at the Battle of Denerim. Shrieks carried no weapons, using only what their nature had given them. It was enough to do serious damage.

Their claws skittered at his armor. One gaped at a dwarf, biting his helmet. Ignoring the horror of the long, stinking tongue licking at his face, the dwarf stabbed deeply, and a comrade hacked through the creature's spine.

Loghain knocked another aside with his shield, and slashed sideways, cutting off a clawed hand. It was hard to slow these things down, filled as they were with unnatural vitality. Maude screamed at one of the monsters, and plunged her dagger into its eye.

"Bloody hell!" Anders shouted, startled when yet another appeared before him. He smashed at it with a magical shock wave, and then immobilized it, while Morrigan drained the creature's life.

When they were dead, the thaig was eerily silent once more, but for the sound of the river lapping gently at the stones of the shore. Anders moved busily from soldier to soldier, healing their wounds.

"That was nasty," Maude muttered.

"The Legion of the Dead fights well," Shale complimented Kardol. "It is pleasant to see you in action."

The dwarf grinned. "Pleasant to see you, too. I never had a golem at my side before. You're welcome to all the emissaries you care to smash!"

There were deepstalkers in the thaig, too. Several large packs of them, in fact, and they were annoying and persistent. Kardol ordered his men to field dress a few and take them along.

"Fresh meat tonight!" he chuckled grimly. "Better than dried nug, any day."

Ranger wagged his tail at one dwarf, and was rewarded with some deepstalker guts. He seemed to like them very much, and trotted after Maude, licking his chops with a satisfied air.

Shale cared nothing for this, and moved along with them, studying each house in turn. "I see nothing. Whatever was once here is gone."

There were a series of bridges over the river, and at the base of one they encountered another pack of shrieks, which fell on them, howling. Anders managed to position himself to freeze a number of them at once, and the party moved quickly to kill them all before they could shake off the paralysis and claw at them.

"I've never seen so many shrieks in one place," Maude remarked afterward. "I've come across a few of them in the Deep Roads, of course, but they're comparatively rare, since they're born of elven broodmothers—"

That caught Loghain's attention. "Elves?"

"Yes, of course. Genlocks come from dwarves, hurlocks from humans, ogres from qunari, and sharlocks—which we call 'shrieks'—from elves. The darkspawn always pull females far underground to breed, but this is so very deep under the mountains. Kardol, is it possible that elves once lived with dwarves, here under the earth?"

"Never heard of anything like that," the dwarf grunted. "Maybe the Shaper could help you."

"I cannot picture it," Morrigan objected. "To live so far from sun and sky? The elves we have known could not endure this. And yet, this place is…different. There was magic here once, and perhaps it still abides."

"I know what you mean," agreed Anders. "There's something here that's not like the rest of the Deep Roads we've seen."

"It's strange," Maude agreed. "I'll give you that. It's clear that there must have been an elven broodmother somewhere fairly close, for us to be seeing all these shrieks."

There was more greenery as they ascended the bridges. Not just lichen, but moss, too. The darkspawn had not managed to Blight this thaig, not entirely. Perhaps the stronger lichen here was able to absorb and clean the taint. It was something to ponder, as they climbed the long span of yet another bridge. The stones trembled with a distant, awful roar.

At the top of the hill beyond the bridge were ferns. Actual, real ferns. This place must be the greenest spot in all the dark underworld of the dwarves. The phosphorescent lichen shed a gentle, penetrating light all the way to the roof of the cavern. The moss was soft and thick here, and the air was nearly free of the stink of darkspawn. Loghain was so distracted by the sight of this little park in the midst of the Deep Roads, that he almost did not glance up soon enough to see the ogre bearing down on them.

It was strong, but it was only one ogre, and there were many in their party, including two powerful mages. Even when another pack of shrieks joined the fray, they fought them off handily. Darkspawn blood soaked into the velvety moss, and was absorbed.

"These shrieks have gold on them!" Maude exulted. "Tevinter gold! Who'd imagine it?"

Quite a bit of gold. Maude shared it out with the whole party, and they then collected some interesting artifacts, including some fine antique weapons and some curious amulets. Anything magical was handed over to the mages—at least by the dwarves, who were uncomfortable with the objects. There were fine crystals, too, and Maude found one that their golem could add to its own adornments.

Towering above them was a statue so large they had almost not noticed it. Its base seemed to be just the foundation of another house, until one craned one's neck back and looked up…and up…and up…

And there was writing on it. A great deal of writing.

Shale, moved past sarcasm, read the inscription, and said, "This, this I remember! It has dates and names! This is a monument to those who volunteered, to those who became golems. Here is my name: Shayle of House Cadash. I recognize it! I was indeed a dwarf, and a woman. This is a revelation!"

Maude ventured softly, "I _did_ tell you."

"It is one thing to hear, and another to _know._ It is an answer of sorts. I wish I could have spoken to Caridin. I must think more on this matter."

* * *

They returned to a hero's welcome. Again. More banquets, more Provings, more flattery. Above the Stone, it was winter, and a hard one. Travel would be a foolish risk. On good days, the Wardens visited their horses, and tasted the air. Then they descended once more to the weatherless underworld of the dwarves.

All Orzammar was theirs—at least what they wanted of it. They practiced and sparred at the Proving grounds, they studied at the Shaperate, they made love in the comfort of their palatial quarters.

Morrigan was the most restless, and winter or not, went to the surface frequently, shifting to wolf and running through the snow, sometimes with a gleeful Ranger. Anders, to Shale's disgust, would come up to practice a bird form, and was nearly at the point of achieving a raven.

Loghain acknowledged that he would like to leave as well. He was homesick for Ferelden. He had heard the word and never before understood it, but it was the word that described him best. Homesick. It surprised him that Maude, of them all, seemed so little troubled by it.

He asked her about it as they cuddled in bed one night, relaxing on the odd comfort of a thick dwarven-hair mattress laid over stone.

"Don't you miss Ferelden? Aren't you ready to go home?"

She had been nearly asleep, but now opened her eyes to the blue half-light of dwarven crystals, and rolled over onto her belly. She propped her chin on a fist, and thought about it.

"No. Not really. I haven't had a home in a long time, Loghain. I've already grieved over my lost home and put it behind me. I suppose after a long enough time, I'll become attached to Soldier's Peak, and _that_ will be my home."

"We can leave in a few weeks. I'm sure of it. We could go north to Highever…"

She made a face. "I don't _want_ to go to Highever. I don't want to see it ever again, but I suppose I'll have to. I don't want to hurt Fergus, and he _has_ to be there, however awful it is. Maybe we could take a different route to Denerim—maybe through the Bannorn."

"You love Highever."

"I love the _memory_ of Highever. I don't want eat food from the kitchen where Nan was killed, or from the larder where my father died. Maybe Mother died there too, but I imagine her death was more public than that. I don't want to know where Howe took her to have his fun. I don't want to sleep in my old room. There isn't a spot in the entire Castle that doesn't hold a painful memory for me. Fergus wasn't there, and maybe it won't be so horrible for him. I imagine Howe's men scrubbed it out, and Fergus won't see Oriana and Oren's bloodstains. I wish Howe had burned the castle to the ground, and we could start all over again."

Her sadness reached him through the pleasant haze of post-coital bliss. "All right. We'll go straight to Denerim. We could go up to West Hill, and push through to the White River Road. It shouldn't take more than six or seven days, weather permitting. We can be back before the end of Guardian."

"If you like," she shrugged a little. "I want to finish that book about recent dwarven history. I wish I knew more about how the darkspawn function between Blights. The writer talks about a "hive mind," but the darkspawn aren't nearly as well organized as bees. It's not like they seem to be able to communicate…"

Loghain blew out a breath, recalling something long forgotten. "…unless they talk."

A silence. "What did you say?"

"Unless they talk. I saw one once that talked."

Another silence. "When?"

"Years ago. When Maric ran off with the Grey Wardens that time. Twenty years ago or so. Bloody idiot. They wanted me to show them around Ortan Thaig because the Warden-Commander had lost her Warden brother in the Deep Roads. Duncan was involved, too. It was all a ruse by the Orlesians, of course. Maric thought it would be a lark to go instead. He was taken prisoner by the Circle of Magi and nearly killed. I had to haul his chestnuts out of the fire. As _usual._ When I found him, there was this strange darkspawn that begged us to kill it."

"It _spoke?_ In actual words?"

"Yes. And Maric allowed it to be killed. I wanted to question the bloody thing."

"A _darkspawn_ spoke?"

"Yes!" he replied, with a touch of impatience. "It was talking about this creature called the Architect, who was an intelligent, talking darkspawn. Maric said that the darkspawn I saw was the remains of the Warden that Lady Genevieve was searching for. This Architect creature had tainted him further, and the Warden now looked entirely like a darkspawn. Maric was a fool to get involved with the business at all."

Maude exploded, threw herself on top of Loghain, and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him.

"When were you going to tell me about _TALKING DARKSPAWN_?" she shrieked. She thumped Loghain on the chest, and he put out his hands to block her attack. She appeared to be completely out of her mind, black eyes rolling with wrath.

Ranger woke, and began barking in alarm at the sight of his master and mistress fighting. Anders and Morrigan stirred, and Anders staggered out of bed, completely naked.

"Wazzappa?" he croaked.

"Stop screaming!" Morrigan complained. "Loghain, Maude is dreaming of darkspawn again. Do quiet her!"

"_Loghain met a talking darkspawn!"_ Maude yelled, attempting to clout him over the head. "There are darkspawn out there who talk, and Loghain never _told_ me!" She snatched up a pillow, and pushed it into his face. He shoved her away, and she threw the pillow at him.

"It was twenty bloody years ago," he yelled back. Catching her by her grabby little hands, he flipped her onto her back and pinned her down. "It's dead by now!"

She kicked at him, shouting, "Darkspawn live _forfuckingever, _unless Wardens _kill_ them. You _knew_ about talking darkspawn! You knew about talking darkspawn even when you were trying to _kill_ me! I can't _believe_ you knew this and never told me!" She kicked at him again. "Get off me!"

He let her go. She snatched up the sheets with a snarl, and stalked off to the sitting room. Ranger cringed back, whining pitifully.

Shale, standing in a corner, wisely offered no comment.

* * *

"Apologize," Anders advised, the following day.

"Apologize," Morrigan said flatly. "No excuse is possible. Plead the failing memory of extreme old age."

Ranger stared at him, brown eyes accusing.

He had been married before, after all, and knew they were right.

"I'm _sorry_ I never told you, Maude," he said, into the tense silence at the breakfast table. "I really never even thought about it until last night. It was twenty years ago, and after Maric died I put it out of my mind. If you hadn't reminded me, I might never thought of it at all, so that's all to the good."

"It's why you disliked Duncan so much, wasn't it? Nearly getting King Maric killed."

He nodded, hoping that the worst of the storm had passed. She looked fairly awful, eyes wild and hair sticking out all over the place. Perhaps when she was calmer, he could talk her into going back to bed with him for some proper rest.

"Maric told me bits of what had happened, but not all of it. Said he owed it to the Wardens to 'honor their secrets.'" The bitterness of it was still alive on his tongue. "And if this Architect creature was still alive, surely it would have played a part in the Blight. No one's heard anything further, so I presumed it was killed at the Circle."

"I hope so," Maude said, attacking her eggs like mortal enemies. "I really hope so. Talking darkspawn are worse than abominations. When I'm fighting darkspawn, I don't want to hear anyone talking but me!"

* * *

They left Orzammar near the end of Guardian, just as Loghain had hoped. It was no great surprise that Shale chose to remain behind.

It…she…Shayle of House Cadash…had been impressed by the Legion of the Dead, and wished to serve with them.

When Anders had suggested that advanced magic might be able to transform her back to her dwarven form, the golem refused.

"I _volunteered_ for this. Long ago, I made this choice to defend the dwarven people against the darkspawn. Shall I change my mind again, simply because I became a golem long ago? The Deep Roads are where I belong. There are no birds to trouble me, and plenty of darkspawn to squish. I shall go to fight beside Kardol, and when he is dead, I shall fight beside those who come after. We shall cleanse Cadash Thaig, and the dwarves will read my name with pride."

* * *

They rode out at last, richer in gold and knowledge. The horses and even Meghren the mule seemed happy to be on the move again. Loghain realized how accustomed he had become to the fug of dwarf and molten stone when he breathed the sharp wind on the east side of the Frostbacks once more. They rode down and down, into the foothills, and down again into human lands.

Night fell: a true night full of stars. Morrigan and Anders wove a web of warding barriers around the camp before they retreated to their tent. Loghain and Maude sat under the black dome of heaven, pointing out their favorite constellations, wrapping a warm bearskin around themselves, drowsing in the clean air before they, too, crawled into their tent for a proper sleep.

They chose the back roads of the Bannorn, and met few darkspawn to oppose them. More dangerous were the outlaw bands, dregs of mercenaries and refugees. Burned and blackened fields stretched out, mile after mile. What would come with the spring?

Dragon's Peak was the first, blessed landmark that swam into view in the clear sky. A day later, they saw the tower of Fort Drakon, dim and ghostly. Loghain pressed their horses hard, and rode on, his mind already in Denerim, until the Great Gate was before them, and he was home.

"It looks much better!" Maude remarked, as they clattered over the new Gate Bridge. "The fire damage isn't nearly as bad as I would have expected."

"The darkspawn weren't in Denerim all that long," he agreed. "Remember what we read about the cities they occupied for years. It simply didn't happen here."

Maude beamed. "I want to ride all over town and see everything!"

Morrigan declared, "And I want a _bath."_

They arrived at the Warden compound to find it empty, but for a few servants.

Loghain thought for a brief, glorious moment that the Orlesians had gone back to Orlais where they belonged. It was too good to be true.

"They've gone to Amaranthine, my lord," the housekeeper told him. "Arlessa Delilah had trouble with them darkspawn as went north. She invited Warden Kristoff and the lot of them to stay with her at Vigil's Keep."

"Oh, too bad!" Maude exclaimed, winking at Loghain. "We missed them! Well, no help for it. We'll hold the fort here. I think we'll start with baths for all of us, if you please."

"Is the Queen in the Palace?' Loghain asked. "If so, inform her of our arrival." It seemed a lifetime since he had seen his daughter. Would she want to see_ him?_

Anders and Morrigan had already vanished upstairs. Loghain opened the window in his room, letting in the winter smells of the city: wood fires and root vegetable peelings, baking pies and wet wool. He began unarming, and Maude helped him, smiling, unbuckling his buckles. Ranger sniffed at his own, long-deserted bed. Someone had shaken the blanket out, so at least it was not dusty. Maids came in, bearing huge noggins of hot water, and emptying them into the enameled bath.

"Isn't this a bit like home?" Loghain asked Maude.

"A bit," she agreed, smiling. "When we have our room at Soldier's Peak, put together perfectly, then that will be even more like one."

A knock, and Seneschal Revere entered.

"Welcome back, my lord! Er, Warden! The Queen wishes to see you at your earliest convenience in her private sitting room. Their Majesties are pleased to invite the Wardens to dine with them tonight. Further," he told them, "there is a great deal of correspondence awaiting your attention in the Warden's Study. Warden Kristoff dealt with what he could, but certain items were directed to you…"

"Thank you, Revere, I'll see to it."

Maude sighed to herself, and said, "You go see Anora first. I'll have a look at it."

This was Denerim, after all, where she was the Dragonslayer Loghain's beautiful sidekick, and not the Risen Andraste, or the Kingmaker of Orzammar. Loghain took her by the shoulders and kissed her, willing her wistfulness away.

Baths always pleased her, and after hers she donned Rowan's old green velvet dress. It was odd to see her in it, but it suited her, and he pushed the past from his mind. Now presentable in breeches, clean linen and a Grey Warden tunic, he set off to see his daughter.

Who, he discovered, was pregnant.

* * *

_Note:_ _Neither the Wardens nor the legionnaires can sense the presence of the Lights of Arlathan, which are a feature of the DLC Witch Hunt. I posit that it is their presence that makes Cadash the greenest of the thaigs we visit. Elves did live there, long ago, and some of their magic still protects the plant life, at least. _

_A big thank you to my reviewers: mille libri, Shakespira, Aoi24, Guile, sapphiretoes, Lehni, Josie Lange, Phygmalion, Wren Wild, Alpha Cucumber, wisecracknmama, Zute, Judy, Sarah1281, wayfaringpanda, Jenna53, Amhran Comhrac, reyavie, mutive, JackOfBladesX, Fastforwarmotion, Enaid Aderyn, Piceron, Gene Dark, icey cold, Kira Kyuuketsuki, and Windchime 68._


	21. Things Are the Way They Are

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 21: Things Are the Way They Are  
**

She was blooming, golden, lovely: she was the best of her mother Celia, the bride of his youth. She gave a nod to that infernal Orlesian maid of hers, who bowed and slipped discreetly out of sight, leaving the two of them alone.

"Oh, Father!" Anora put out her arms to him, and he held her, feeling the swelling promise of her belly. "I'm so very, very happy! Wynne says everything is going just as it should. I am going to be a mother in four months' time! I pretended that it didn't matter, and that I didn't care, but it does, and I do!"

"And you're feeling well? You're not simply being brave?"

She laughed at him then, silver on crystal. "You missed my awful morning-sickness, and lucky for you! I'm much better now. I can even feel the child move sometimes. Alistair is so thrilled. He's always longed for a family, and now he shall have one."

Drawing him over to a settee by the window, she had him sit with her, her hands in his. Late afternoon sun lit her hair into a glory. Loghain smiled, happy to simply be there with his daughter.

"And how is Maude? Is she well? Of course she is," Anora laughed wryly. "She is never ill. And you too, Father. You really do look younger. I trust you are pleased in your marriage?"

She looked up him, teasing and quizzical. Loghain squeezed her hand. "Yes. Very pleased. Sometimes bemused by the ironies of life, but grateful for the gifts Fate bestows unlooked for and unasked."

Anora looked out the window, smiling at some thought of her own. "I know exactly what you mean."

There was much to talk over. They began with Anora's doings.

There was the child and the newly refurbished nursery: there was the rebuilding of Denerim. Reconstruction had continued, and the new Denerim would be better than the old. To his surprise, he found that no one had been granted the Arling of Denerim.

Anora was looking at him, beautiful blue eyes wide. It was the expression she used when she was going to try to talk him round.

"After all I went through, first with the Kendalls, and then with Rendon Howe, it occurred to me that the best way to strengthen the Crown was for it to have more direct power. At the next Landsmeet, I am—I mean, Alistair and I—well…we are going to take the Arling for the Crown. The King of Ferelden will also be Teyrn of Denerim. Denerim was Calenhad's teyrnir historically, after all. I think—_we_ think- that it would much improve royal authority in the capital. It was so hard to accomplish anything in Denerim. Don't say anything about it yet—except to Maude. I hope she will exert her influence on her brother to support me. Us."

"You've already kept Gwaren. The Landsmeet won't be pleased."

She narrowed her eyes. "Gwaren is _mine!_ It is the Mac Tir fiefdom! Alistair and I may have more children than this one. We must consider their futures!"

"I am not saying I don't agree with you. I simply think it will be difficult to get the Landsmeet's support. Though I believe you have a better chance now than later. When you announce the upcoming birth of an heir, there will be a groundswell of good will for you. Your greatest opposition will be from Eamon, I expect."

She nodded, her hand laid protectively on her belly. "You're right, of course. He's been very difficult in the past few months: Alistair made him Chancellor, so Eamon remained in Denerim and is constantly at him, trying to talk him into things. He wants Denerim for his brother. Alistair likes Teagan, and I can understand that, but in due course Teagan will be Arl of Redcliffe."

"The sooner the better," Loghain agreed, grimacing. His thoughts slid to Maude. She certainly disliked Eamon as much as he and Anora did. Perhaps something really needed to be done, and before the next Landsmeet…

"As to Eamon..." he began. "Well…let me start at the beginning. Maude and I went south to scout the source of the Blight. We've had a great many adventures over the past few months..."

He had to tell her something of the Blighted state of southern Ferelden, about which she already had reports. That what remained of Lothering had been burned, she had learned, but had not known who had put the tainted village to the torch. She nodded. Word had spread of the need for fire to cleanse what the darkspawn had polluted.

"We went all over the ruins of Ostagar," Loghain told her "There were not many darkspawn, but a number of surprises. We…" He paused, realizing that he was hardened to this, but she was not. He must put this in the least painful way. "We found Cailan's remains, and gave them an honorable pyre. Maude put some of the ashes in an urn for you." Her tea jar was not exactly an urn, but it was a very pretty little jar, and Anora did not need to know that Maude had kept Highever Honeygrass in it. "We also retrieved his armor, and brought it back with us."

Her eyes glittered with tears she was too proud to shed. "That was most kind, Father. It means a great deal to me."

She was about to say more, and Loghain feared she would wax sentimental over the self-important fool who had plotted to cast her aside. He did not want to tell her about the letters from Celene, which now meant less than nothing. Eamon, however, was another matter…

Brusquely, he added, "We also retrieved the chest that held his personal correspondence. There were letters from Eamon, urging Cailan to find a new wife. Nothing in their tone or content made me think better of the Arl of Redcliffe."

Anora considered that, golden head drooping in thought. "Of course I always knew that Eamon disapproved of me. Even being born the daughter of a teyrn could not disguise the odor of my low origins to one such as he!" Her smile was tight and bitter. "When he was informed that I was with child, you should have seen his face! There was the briefest expression of shock and…disappointment, and then it froze—absolutely froze! Then, of course, he smiled and said all the proper things. Arlessa Isolde fared even more poorly. However," she leaned over to speak softly, "I have received intelligence that the Arlessa is trying hard for another child."

Loghain snorted. "With _someone."_ He had always had suspicions about the Arlessa and Teagan. "If the son had not proved to be a mage, I have no doubt that Eamon would have put him forward rather than Alistair."

Anora shrugged. "Well, that is all water under the bridge, as they say."

Loghain had decided to conceal the existence of both Honnleath and Haven, and skipped to what might interest her more, anyway. "We visited Orzammar, too, and the King was very civil. He asked for favors, and we went into the Deep Roads, just as he asked, so Ferelden is in very good odor with the dwarven kingdom right now. And I bought a present for you there, too. You'll get it at dinner."

She kissed his cheek. "I sounds like your travels were very productive indeed, Father. And now," she said, with more mischief than he had seen in her in many, many years, "I must ask you if you have already read the correspondence waiting for you in the Warden Compound?"

"Not yet. I wanted to see you first."

Anora's eyes sparkled. "Before he left, Warden Kristoff told me of a letter sent to the Grey Wardens of Ferelden by the First Warden in Weisshaupt. In it, the First Warden names Loghain Mac Tir, the slayer of the Archdemon Urthemiel, Warden-Commander of the Grey in Ferelden!"

Loghain shook his head, amused by the irony of it all. So he was to command the Wardens? Good. He could command the Orlesians right back to Orlais. He sat back thinking it over, already conceiving plans for Warden recruiting, and Warden training, and Warden operations… Some ideas had already crossed his mind, and now he would have a free hand.

Then he frowned. What would Maude think? All she had done, all she had borne to uphold the Wardens, to enforce the ancient treaties, to dare all the powers of Ferelden to save her country: all of it, it seemed, was forgotten by Weisshaupt. She might be very hurt by this. He should break it to her gently…

"Maker's Breath!" he swore. Anora looked surprised.

"I thought you'd be pleased, Father!"

"I am, but I would have preferred to tell Maude in my own way. I sent her off to go through the correspondence. She's probably reading about my appointment right now."

Anora tried to be reassuring. "She will surely see that you are the best possible choice. While she is a splendid warrior and a very accomplished diplomat, she has nothing like your experience as the commander of an army."

"I _am_ the best choice," he agreed. "That doesn't mean she'll like it. What did Alistair say when he found out?"

She tried too hard to be nonchalant. "I am certain that he will be reconciled to it…in time."

"That bad?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, indeed."

He touched her cheek, with a half-smile, and rose.

"I had better have a look at the letter, and sort things out with Maude. This appointment changes the situation entirely. We were told the Orlesian Wardens went to Amaranthine at Delilah Howe's request."

"Yes. Three weeks ago. Some of the horde fled north after the death of the Archdemon and there have been many darkspawn attacks. Amaranthine is famous for its mines. They may have hidden in such places. The Wardens had dealt with most of the known threats in the Bannorn and around Denerim. This is new, and appears to be more serious."

Loghain frowned. "Then I had best go there myself. I'll read through the correspondence, and then I'll see you at dinner." He kissed the top of her head. "With your present."

* * *

Maude was not in the Wardens' study. She was not in their bedchamber. Loghain wondered if she gone to complain to Morrigan, and then took a look in Maude's old room instead.

Ranger looked up at him, and panted solemnly from the floor where he was lying next to Maude. She was on the floor, too, eyes shut, her head resting lightly against the carved chest that Fergus had sent her from Highever House. Draped over her was a magnificent fur cloak. Maude rubbed her cheek against the softness of it.

"It still smells like my mother," she murmured. "Rose and blood lotus."

He paused, and then, urged by Ranger's mute appeal, sat down on the floor behind her, and wrapped her in his arms.

"Did you look at the letters?"

"I did. Heaps of interesting things there. The maids had to come in and tell me all the gossip, too. So, you get to be Warden-Commander. Such fun for you. And Anora gets to have a baby. All in all, I say that counts as a big win for the Mac Tirs."

"Are you very disappointed?"

"About which of those things?" she asked dreamily, humming as her fingers wandered over the cloak. "I really don't think I want to talk about my feelings at the moment. It's all rather like being in one of those Orzammar lifts, or looking down from a precipice. Obviously, it's absolutely spiffing for Ferelden to have an heir, and you'll be a splendid Warden-Commander. Awfully glad I heard about both those things before a lot of people saw me. Gives me time to assemble my face a bit, don't you know?"

He held her a little closer, resisting the possibility that she might be drifting away. "It could be worse," he said. "The First Warden could have made one of the Orlesians Warden-Commander. Or he could send someone completely unknown to us who was even worse than the lot we've got. This gives us a completely free hand at Soldier's Peak."

A noncommittal little noise. He laid his cheek against hers. For such a fierce creature, she was entrancingly soft in places. He said, "Anora has waited so long for a child. You aren't jealous of her, are you?"

"_Of course_ _I am_," she hissed. She relaxed, and went on in her odd dreamy voice. "That doesn't mean I don't see the baby as a good thing. It's a good thing for Ferelden, and a good thing for Alistair and Anora as a couple, and definitely a good thing for each of them individually. Alistair will make a complete ass of himself over his child. That should be very diverting."

"I had no idea you wanted a child." He really had not. It simply had not occurred to him. He already had a grown daughter, who herself would soon be a mother. Grey Wardens could not have children together, as he had learned months before. Maude had had quite a bit of time to get used to the idea.

Except she plainly had not reconciled herself to it, and was very, very unhappy about it. It was useless to brood over impossibilities. He would have to distract her.

She distracted him first. "Such a lot of letters. Fergus is frightfully busy in Highever. Leliana wrote, and so did Riordan. They're disgustingly happy, and Jader is lovely, and Leliana has bought heaps of posh shoes. Apparently, the Orlesians replied to my begging letter and sent wagons of gear and a bit of money to the Compound here. Our own Orlesians took the money chest with them when they went north, worse luck. Kristoff left a note about it. I have to inventory the rest. We'll see if it's worth anything. We got supplies from the Antivans—including some wine. No money though, but wine is nice. Some money from the Ostwick Wardens, and extra money from my cousin the Teyrn along with a very nice letter. Kristoff took that too—I mean the money, not the letter-the wretch. No word from Nevarra or the rest of the Free Marches except for Kirkwall. The Viscount tendered his appreciation for killing the Archdemon, but otherwise feels he's doing quite enough, putting up with our refugees. Fergus says Highever needs labor. Remind me to say something to Anora about sending a ship to Kirkwall…"

She was chattering now, the pace just on the edge of hysteria. Loghain tried to slow her down. "I told Anora I'd give her her present at dinner. I suppose I should have brought something back for Chantry Boy…"

"Don't worry. _I_ bought something for Alistair in Orzammar. He's going to love it."

"Good thinking." He dropped gentle kisses along the side of her long and lovely neck, then nuzzled the place where her neck joined her bare shoulder. He did like these old-fashioned dresses.

Ranger whined anxiously, and paced back and forth. Loghain scratched the floppy little ears.

"It's all right," he assured the dog, and realized he was trying to reassure himself.

On an armor stand in the corner was displayed a magnificent sent of Archdemon armor, just Maude's size. Purplish-black, like his own, and flourished with even more silverite.

"That's amazing," he remarked.

She shrugged and stood up. Folding the fur cloak carefully, she put it back in the chest, and closed the lid without a sound.

He took her hand. "We're going north the day after tomorrow to check on those Orlesian imbeciles, so we'll have a great deal to do. For the moment, though, all we have to face is dinner."

She gave him a hurt little smile that wrung his heart.

"Allow me, then, some time to put on a face I need not be ashamed of."

He put an arm around her, as they went into the room they shared. Sitting on the bed, he watched her use an array of brushes in her most painstaking manner: painting her face and arranging her hair. She twisted her braid into a knot at the back of her head, and held it in place with eight gold hairpins, each menacingly sharp. The head of each pin was a different insect: a gold bee, a gold butterfly, a gold beetle,a gold dragonfly… They must be more heirlooms from her mother, but Loghain did not recall having seen them before. He had no doubt that in a pinch Maude could use them as deadly weapons.

"At least you haven't insisted on having your own lady's maid," he grunted.

Maude made a face. "You're thinking of Erlina, I take it? If I want to hire a bard to spy on me, she'd have to play an instrument really well, at the very least."

Loghain managed a half smile. "Anora has never agreed that that girl is a spy. Insists that's she perfectly loyal, even though Celene sent her out along with the rest of the wedding presents. More likely, it's because Anora likes the way she does her hair."

"Well," Maude nodded sagely, looking into the expensive Tevinter-made mirror, regarding her own hair with dissatisfaction, "that is definitely a mitigating factor. No one understands my hair like Leliana, for that matter. Not that I think Erlina is any danger to Anora. She might have been at one time, but that ended when Cailan died, I think."

Loghain was fascinated, and felt keeping her talking would be the best thing for her spirits. It did Maude a great deal of good to feel cleverer than everyone else. "Another conspiracy theory? Out with it!"

"Well…" Maude's eyes gleamed, and she lowered her voice to a velvety purr. "So Erlina is sent out when Anora is first married… It's perfectly obvious that she would be reporting back to Celene. At some point, however—possibly after Ostagar, and possibly even before—she realized that she was far better off as Anora's trusted handmaiden and confidante than she would ever be as an Orlesian agent. How could Celene reward her? _Would_ she reward her? Or would she simply be eliminated when she knew too much? At best, if the attempt to supplant Anora had succeeded, Erlina would have been recalled to Orlais, and probably sent out on a new mission, which might well include sucking the limp dick of a fat Nevarran guildmaster."

"Maude!"

"Well, it very well could. No comfortable retirement for an Orlesian agent, I expect. Especially an elven agent. Not like working for a lovely and well-mannered Queen, who treats her like a human being, provides her with comfortable lodgings and good food in the palace, protects her from unwanted attention, honors her with her trust, and relies on her taste in hair and dress. Knowing Anora, Erlina will never be turned out, no matter what. She's probably mentioned in the Queen's will. If Erlina were human, she might hope for more, but she's not. I think Celene outsmarted herself, or she underestimated Anora's appeal. I believe Erlina is quite loyal now, and knows when she's well off. She's not likely to foul her own nest at this point."

To his surprise, Maude dressed in the elaborate scarlet gown she had worn to Anora's wedding.

"I must not look pitiful," she told Loghain calmly. She even laced up her red velvet boots, the Court's scandal and delight, complete with daggers and all. It was a brave display, but she was a brave girl, after all.

* * *

It was a large dinner, with many in attendance. As the honored guests, and as father and step-mother of the Queen, Loghain and Maude sat at the Royal Table, Loghain at his daughter's left and Maude to Alistair's right. Just as well. Not only did he and Alistair not have to look at each other, they had every excuse not to speak to each other. Loghain was more interested in Anora's conversation, anyway.

The other tables extended down, perpendicular to the King's. Eamon, as Chancellor, presided over the right-hand table, with his wife Isolde. Morrigan and Anders were placed high on the left-hand table, where the other Wardens sat on state occasions. Wynne sat next to Anders, which was amusing to watch. Of course, he could hear nearly everything that Alistair and Maude said to one another. And of course, Alistair absolutely had to whisper to Maude that he thought _she_ should have been named Warden-Commander, rather than Loghain.

She whispered back, her voice throaty with persuasion. "It was the First Warden's decision, Alistair. It is what it is." That topic of conversation was thoroughly closed.

After a moment, Alistair tried something else. "I just realized," he said to Maude, in that tone that signaled he was about to say something he thought very witty. "You're going to be a _grandmother._ 'Grandmother Maude.' It has a ring to it, don't you think?"

Anora smiled faintly. Loghain leaned back to get a look at Maude's face.

She smiled brilliantly. She had spent sufficient time on her hair and face to appear remarkably merry and relaxed. "I entirely agree. 'Grandmother Maude' sounds gorgeous. So lucky for your child, too. I plan on being an _exemplary_ grandparent. I promise an inexhaustible supply of cookies and kisses. What more could one ask? Of course, I shall also do my part to educate the young Prince or Princess. I have all sorts of talents and skills to share." She saw Loghain watching, and gave him a wink. "Where shall I begin? Lute-playing or Darkspawn-slaying? How about lockpicking?"

Alistair groaned. Maude laughed at him. "Or treasure-hunting? It's one way to fill the royal coffers…"

"Speaking of treasure," Loghain said to Anora, rather hastily, "I promised you a present. I found these in Orzammar."

After some earnest polishing the night before, the bracers were even more magnificent.

"How beautiful! What unusual designs! Thank you, Father: they're lovely."

Maude smirked. "And the King was not forgotten. I bought this for your collection, Alistair." She plunked down a heavy object in front of him, wrapped in black silk. Alistair brightened noticeably, and whisked the silk away.

"Wow…Wow! That's just…wow! You always give the best presents, Maude."

Anora stared. "Alistair…is that…?"

"An ogre!" He grinned.

"It completes your collection," Maude said proudly. "Hero, Princess, Demon, Dragon, and now Darkspawn."

Loghain thought it must have cost quite a bit, for something so hideous. Obsidian and amethyst and silver, the little ogre had been fashioned in some bizarre way that allowed the horned head to bob up and down, giving it an oddly life-like appearance. Anora blinked, rather glassy-eyed.

Alistair admired it exactly as if the ghastly object was wonderful. "Thanks, Maude. It's…wow… I'd better put my figurines up high so the baby won't break them, I suppose."

_Dolls._ The realization stunned Loghain like a blow from an icy Fist of Doom. _My son-in-law is a doll collector…_

_

* * *

_Still, Anora was pregnant. Anora was going to have a baby in four months time. Really and truly. A royal heir for Ferelden at last. Loghain smiled whenever he remembered it, and endeavored manfully to put aside the horror of doll-collecting Chantry Boys. To make up for the deficiencies of such a father, Loghain had, as soon as he was dressed the following morning, begun making notes for a comprehensive educational syllabus for the new prince or princess. They'd thank him for it some day.

They had found out, at dinner last night, that the King and Queen had chosen a name—apparently not without a quiet little war between them. Chantry Boy wanted Duncan, and wanted it pretty much whether the child was a boy or a girl. Anora had pointed out that as the individual actually carrying said child in her body, eventually to expel it in the course of several hours of blood and pain, she had final say about the name, and Duncan was not in the cards. She thought Gareth a generous compromise, since she really preferred Loghain. Loghain himself was enchanted at the idea that his grandson would bear the name of his own beloved father.

"I have to agree," said Maude, as she finished braiding her hair. "Gareth is lovely. I think Duncan for a girl is pretty grim, though it's a nice name for a boy. King Duncan doesn't sound bad to me, though perhaps it's a name of ill omen. Gareth will do nicely." She muttered to herself, "And it might still be a girl. There's absolutely nothing wrong with the baby being a girl. Nobody seems to consider that seriously. Anyway…" she smiled at him and looked over his shoulder as he wrote. "How is the _Garethopedia _coming? Will it include charts, maps, and pertinent illustrations?"

"Laugh if you will," Loghain growled. He gave her a sharp little glance, wondering if she was simply teasing him, or if this was jealousy manifesting itself again. "This child will have a _proper_ education. And maps are vital to a monarch's comprehension of the world."

"I'm not laughing at the idea," Maude shook her head. "I am smiling fondly at your devotion to our yet unborn and gender-neutral grandbaby. It's very touching. Very sweet."

"I am _not_ sweet."

"Wrong again, Dragonslayer." She prowled up behind him, pressing close, smelling of sweet herbs. She nuzzled at the back of his neck, and then licked at him delicately. "Very sweet," she murmured huskily, her lips traveling up to nibble at his ear...

Well, that completely took his mind off his writing. His quill snapped in his hands. They adjourned for a pleasant interlude in the large and curtained bed. It was a relief that however displeased she was with her situation in the new Ferelden, she was not blaming him personally. Perhaps she bit him a _little _harder than usual...but it was all good, all very nice indeed, and they lay entangled and sweaty in the afterglow. Maude traced the line of his jaw with a fingertip. "Loghain..." They were at peace, silent but for their heartbeats. If only the world would leave them alone.

"I've been asked to attend the Council meeting today," Loghain told Maude, hoping she would take it well.

"And I am not invited, I take it?" She rose up on an elbow, and looked at him sharply. He sighed. She was _not_ taking it well. She was bitterly offended, in fact. He could hardly blame her, but the situation was what it was. She abruptly got out of bed, and slipped into her smallclothes.

Loghain told her the truth. "Eamon, as Chancellor, arranges the attendees and agenda for the Council. Most of the nobility is out in the country right now, rebuilding their estates. Today, it will be only the King and Queen, with Eamon and the Grand Cleric. Kylon, the Captain of the City Guard will make a report, as will the foreman of the dwarven masons. I'm to tell them about what I saw in Southern Ferelden and in Orzammar."

He saw her take a deep breath, and forestalled her. "Yes, I remember about the refugees in Kirkwall. I will suggest that ships be sent and the refugees be conveyed to the nearest suitable port, which is the city of Highever. I'll take your brother's letter with me, if you don't mind."

"What else are they going to talk about?"

She might as well know now. Loghain said, "The King and Queen do not want to appoint a new Arl of Denerim, but instead plan to incorporate the arling into the royal holdings. The King and Queen would be teyrn and teyrna of Denerim. Eamon will oppose them, since he wants the arling for his brother. Anora is hoping that you will convince your brother to support her at the Landsmeet."

"I might. If Eamon is going to slight me like this, I wouldn't mind giving him trouble." Maude was thinking it over. "On the other hand, I'm not sure Fergus will like the idea of increasing the Crown's power. More power for the Crown means less for the nobles. What does Fergus have to gain by such a concession?"

"Denerim will be far better run by Anora…and Alistair," he added reluctantly.

"Perhaps so," Maude said, her voice musical with sweet reason, "but what has _Fergus_ to gain by such a concession—especially in the long run? I think Anora needs to present some pretty good arguments, or allow greater latitude or tax relief to the nobility."

He watched her carefully. Her cheerful insouciance seemed deliberately assumed, and a little defiant. "If Anora or Alistair had insisted you be invited to the Council," Loghain asked grimly, "would you have viewed the idea more favorably?"

Maude smiled beatifically. "That's entirely possible, but we'll never know now, will we? Anyway, if we're really leaving tomorrow, I have heaps to do."

With her list, Maude would make the rounds of their artisans and craftsmen, checking on the progress of their commissions, with an eye to their plans for Soldier's Peak. They hoped to go out after the Landsmeet in Cloudreach and start the repairs and renovations.

"I can't see why we can't fit this visit to the Wardens in Amaranthine perfectly well," she concluded. "I shall put on my armor, and then I'm off."

"And we're invited to an intimate dinner tonight with the two of them. Anora even invited Morrigan and Anders to join us."

That actually made Maude laugh.

The problem of Denerim still rankling, Loghain burst out, "You know, this situation would not have arisen if you hadn't killed Vaughan Kendalls. Why did you, anyway?"

Maude moved to the vanity to pin up her hair, her step rather jaunty. "I told you. He was a pig."

"And you always kill all pigs wherever you find them?"

She nodded sagely. "Whenever and wherever I can. He was a very swinish pig indeed. If you must know, when I was clearing out Howe's dungeons, I came upon an elf who had been imprisoned by Vaughan long before the Battle of Ostagar. Probably nobody else remembered his crime, which was to oppose the abduction and rape of his bride, his sister, his cousin, and their attendants, when Vaughan and his best friends crashed a wedding looking for 'whores," as the debonair noble so charmingly put it. A number of the girls, including his cousin, were killed outright or died in the course of the abuse. That Shianni, by the way, the red-haired girl we met at the Alienage, is his sister, and one of the survivors. Unluckily for Vaughan, I came across him just after I killed Rendon Howe. My blood was…up...at the moment, and he really should have watched his tone with me. Threatening to flay me just…" she narrowed her eyes, searching for the right word. "…just put me a _little_ over the edge."

She pulled on a new, clean gambeson, whistling a brief, cheerful melody. "Have a nice time at your meeting. I'm sure I'll have heaps to keep me busy." She turned to him, with a look of cool amusement. "Don't expect me to apologize. Denerim, Ferelden, and indeed all Thedas is better off without a piece of shit like that, and you know it."

"And then you took his stuff."

"Of course I did. Why should I treat him any differently than the countless others I've killed? I persuaded him to give me the key to his strongbox, and then I killed him. He was worth twenty sovereigns dead, and worth less than nothing alive. I never liked him anyway."

* * *

Before the meeting began, Loghain had a moment to bring Anora the jar with Cailan's ashes, and had a servant deliver Cailan's armor to the Royal Armory. Maric's sword was a different matter. Chantry Boy had given him no reason to believe that he would value his father's weapon. For now, Loghain locked it away in the Compound's cellars, carefully oiled and wrapped. Perhaps his grandchild would someday be proud to own such a storied blade.

The meeting itself lasted far longer than he had anticipated. Eamon droned on endlessly: a clever ploy, clearly intended to dull the wits of his auditors. By making them bored and sleepy, Eamon was hoping to slip things past them. Loghain forced himself to remain alert, but was rather tired from the effort now. It had gone on so long that the King complained of hunger, and a lunch was brought. That made everyone even sleepier, as they worked through it and into the early afternoon. There was going to be trouble at the Landsmeet about the Denerim proposal. Something _really _needed to be done about Eamon _soon_…

Loghain hoped Maude was amusing herself and would not feel ignored. He needed to get her out of Denerim. This city was bad for her. Once she was out in the country, fighting, she would have no more time to brood on slights. Once they were at Soldier's Peak, she would be Queen of all she surveyed, happily occupied with her own domain.

He escaped at last, and found that the Wardens' Compound was silent. Presumably Maude was still harassing the merchants of Denerim. The housekeeper came out at the sound of his footsteps.

"Ah, 'tis you, my lord," she said, looking a trifle disappointed. "I had thought it was my lady and the other Wardens. She sent word earlier that she might be late. I've kept their nooning warm for them."

"She went to the Market, I know," Loghain said, "And the others are with her?"

"Yes, indeed. Man, woman, dog, and all."

What could be keeping her? He puzzled over it. He considered getting back to work on what Maude was pleased to call the_ Garethopedia._ Instead, he found one of Maude's ridiculous books, and sat down in the big chair by the fire with it.

"_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an unmarried nobleman must be in want of a wife…"_

He snorted. Common-born as he was, the noble mothers of Ferelden had tied themselves in knots to win him for their daughters, back in the days when he was first made Teyrn of Gwaren. There was considerable indignation when he followed his heart and chose the daughter of a cabinet-maker. Even after Celia's death…even indecently soon after Celia's death, they had hounded him. He had been forced to make clear his disinclination to wed again. Probably a surprising amount of the seething resentment against him in the Bannorn stemmed from those days. He had wished to make himself understood, even by proud mothers and fathers, and he had offended key figures in the Landsmeet.

Even Bryce had once…long ago…they had been drinking…and Maude's father had very delicately put out some feelers, shortly after Cailan's wedding, when there was no longer any question of making a royal marriage for his daughter…. Maker, how young had Maude been at the time? Sixteen? Seventeen? A beautiful, spirited child. He had been more polite to the Teyrn of Highever than to some others, and he could honestly tell the man that his daughter was lovely, but he had been very plain about how inappropriately young the girl was. .He had told Bryce that his daughter deserved better. Bryce no doubt agreed, and had let the matter drop. Another irony.

He turned the page. The heroine of the story was a saucy chit. No wonder Maude liked her. The nobleman, on the other hand, was a stuffy dullard.

"'_She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt _me_…'"_ What a fool. Pretty true to life, but a silly story, all the same.

He dozed, and slipped into the Fade.

"_My lord!" shouted the guard, "The Warden has been captured! Ser Cauthrien is even now taking her to Fort Drakon!"_

_Good news at last. Loghain rose, and set out to settle this matter. The wayward little rebel had caused him no end of trouble and expense, and it was time for a reckoning. He stalked down a long dark hall. The Warden was at the end of it. He passed an open door, Screams and lurid light spilled onto his path. Glancing to the side, he saw Rendon Howe at his work, diligently questioning the broken man on the rack. Howe glanced up and gave Loghain a knowing smirk._

"_So the spitfire is in the net at last. Need some help?"_

"_No. She's mine."_

"_Just as you like, of course. If she proves stubborn…"_

"_Of course she'll prove stubborn," Loghain muttered to himself, not breaking his stride. "She's the bloody Warden." All those troops at her command…those alliances…there must be some sort of leverage he could use that would tame her, but not damage her so visibly that her allies would refuse to treat with him. He needed to get his hands on those companions of hers. They would probably try to help her escape…_

_There she was! The rebels had failed, and the prize was still his. Loghain strode to the door of the cell, deep satisfaction burning in his belly. The girl was nearly naked, examining her cell for weaknesses. A wild, lovely creature, he acknowledge unwillingly, admiring the muscled back and the long legs._

"_Warden," he drawled._

_The girl turned to face him. It was Rowan, dark curling hair falling to her shoulders. Her proud, unyielding gaze surrendered nothing..._

Loghain fought out of the nightmare, shuddering. The unheeded book slid to the floor. He gave himself a shake. Nothing like that had happened. It did not do to dwell on dreams.

The outer doors thudded open, and that noise was followed by scuffling and smothered laughter. The lightest hint of fresh, cool air drifted though the stones of the Compound, carrying Maude's voice at its most cheerful.

"Shepherd's Pie! You're a wonder, Mistress Primrose! Ranger! Sit! That looks marvelous! Let me wash up a bit…I'm filthy."

"Indeed you are," Morrigan voice replied tartly. "Do I detect a hint of decayed rat?"

"That's probably me," Anders complained. "That last explosion was messy."

"Food first!" declared Maude, "Then baths!"

Loghain set the book aside, and found the rest of the Fereldan Wardens gathered in the study, admiring the set-out on the round table. Ranger whuffed, and trotted over to him, tail wagging, seeming mightily pleased with himself. Loghain scratched the dog's ears. Maude beamed at him. She was indeed filthy.

"We've been having a lovely time," she told him. "We just killed a honking great demon in the Alienage!"

"Lovely," snarked Anders. He grinned all the same.

"A pity you were not there, Loghain," Morrigan drawled. "But the dog did very well in your stead."

"Ouch!" Anders smirked at Loghain, and then lifted the cover from a dish, smiling blissfully through the fragrant steam.

The housekeeper and an elven servant bustled in with basins of hot water and some towels. There was some scrubbing, and the company fell to without further delay. Loghain had already eaten, but the pie looked rather good…

"What were you doing in the Alienage?" he wondered.

"Told you," Maude said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "A demon. Those poor elves had been waiting for me for over a month, ever since they figured out the problem. Actually, a Templar figured out the problem—"

"Ser Otto," Anders supplied. "He captured me once before he was blinded. Quite a decent fellow: more sincere and less twisted than most. After the Chantry wrote him off as too disabled for duty, he was looking was something to do. Couldn't get the Chantry interested in the elves' problem, though, and after testing the waters, so to speak, he knew it was too much for him alone…"

Morrigan was enjoying an apple tart. She wiped daintily at the juices, and sniped. "And no wonder. The place was quite infested. The Templar, poor fool, insisted on thrusting himself into the thick of things and was nearly killed. At any rate, the thing is dead and gone, and the elves have once again tendered their eternal gratitude. Not that it's worth much."

Loghain ask dryly, "Did the demon have much stuff to take?"

Maude shrugged. "Not much. I donated it all to the elves anyway. They need everything they can get. Are we still on for our private dinner with Their Majesties tonight?"

* * *

Their dinner tonight was in the Family Dining Parlor. Anders and Morrigan had never been in this room, and looked about them with interest. Anora had done a great deal with it over the years, and had transformed what had been plain and unadorned into an exquisitely furnished and decorated jewelbox. It was too Orlesian for Loghain's taste, and he had told her so. Anora had told him he was mistaken, and that it was not Orlesian at all. It was not clear to Loghain what other word could describe a place with chairs cushioned not only on the seats but on the backs. As for the painted walls...

"So, _Grandmother,_" teased Alistair, "tell me more about the demon in the Alienage. You're sure it wasn't an abomination?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. Anders rolled his. Their eyes met and they both sighed eloquently.

Alistair made a face. "Right. You're sure. How did it get there?"

Maude smiled wolfishly, quite glad to tell them all.

"Back when Rendon Howe was taking over Denerim—"

Loghain grimaced, not liking that particular turn of phrase.

"—he decided to put the elves in their places, so he unleashed a purge on the Alienage. Houses were raided and dangerous agitators put to the sword. Among those very dangerous agitators were all the children in the Orphanage. Thirty-five or thirty-six, according to various accounts. So the awfully brave men and women slaughtered the menacing scary children—"

"Maude," Loghain began, hoping he could stop her before she really insulted Anora.

She smiled back at him coolly. "Just the facts, then. The children and their caretakers were put to the sword. Such an event occasionally leaves…traces."

Anders put in, "It's possible that at least one of the children was a mage. Very young, and probably unknowing, but however it happened, the murders created dangerous phantasms and drew a lot of minor demons and one really dangerous one to the site."

Maude took up the tale. "The elves are short of housing. There are some new orphans from the battle, but mostly they want to turn most of the building into hired rooms for the homeless. It was impossible until the demons were driven out. So they had a lookout waiting in the Market District: waiting until I turned up."

Anora had become more and more vexed as she listened. "Surely they did not need to wait so long! Why could they not submit a petition to the Crown?"

Alistair nodded, enjoying his dinner. Food in the Palace was always so good. "I'd be happy to take on a demon. No problem. Were they too afraid to ask?"

Both Maude and Anora smiled on Chantry Boy then, to Loghain's disgust. They actually looked pleased with him.

Maude said, "I know you would have helped them, had you known. They were afraid, yes: but after a bit they were much more afraid of the demon. So the hahren and my friend Shianni and some others actually did try to lodge a petition, but as usual, they were turned away at the Palace gates, very rudely, I expect."

Anora looked angry, and Maude asked her in her sweetest voice. "Has any elf ever actually lodged a petition with you? No? There's a reason for that. Your loyal guards are just trying to protect you, and they have a lot of power over who you do and don't see."

"That stops tonight," Alistair growled. Anora patted his hand in agreement. Loghain refused to get involved in the discussion. They had no idea what would happen if their door really was open to absolutely everyone. Maric had tried it. Let them find out for themselves.

""Good on you," Maude said equably. "Anyway, they weren't able to get official help, and the City Guard is not really equipped to deal with demons. Other than a sweet soul like Ser Otto, the Templars were uninterested, since it only involved elves."

She played with her spoon, admiring the little silver mabari on the handle, and said, "And they finally turned to the Wardens, since they'd had good luck with us in the past. Kristoff heard them out politely, they said, but told them that if it didn't involve darkspawn, it was not within his purview. And then the Wardens all went north, anyway. So the elves pinned their hopes on my return. They found me and we went in with nice Ser Otto and we cleaned that place out, I can tell you. The elves were already dividing up the space when we left. They'll have to get rid of the remains and scrub up the blood, but it will be a tremendous help to them."

"Maude gave them coin for a celebration," Morrigan tattled. "She is such a soft touch."

"Am not."

"'Tis only too true. You are sorry for the elves."

"_No!"_ Maude said sarcastically. "You think?"

"It was a brave and generous act," Anora said. "Something really must be done about the Alienage." She caught Alistair's eye, and he frowned, evidently considering something they had already discussed. Loghain imagined that Anora had grand plans for Denerim, once it was under royal control, and now the elves were to be included. Good luck with that.

Anora told them that there were reports of trouble on the Northern roads. The Pilgrim's Path was the name for the way north from Denerim to the city of Amaranthine. It included a part of the North Road and then followed the Amaranthine Road through the Wending Wood, to Vigil's Keep and then on to the seaport. The trouble was partly the usual sort: bandits and scavengers taking advantage of the chaos of war. There were other rumors, too: of spirits and demons unleashed by the conflict. There were darkspawn, too, of course, hiding in the landscape. They would probably have an adventurous journey.

"And before you leave," Alistair said eagerly, "I want you to meet someone. I've got a recruit for the Wardens!" He signaled to a guard, and in a few moments a young woman in armor entered.

Her name was Mhairi—Ser Mhairi, actually. She was a knight of Denerim and a well-regarded warrior. She was young, too: as young as Maude, but without Maude's broad experience of the world. Loghain would never have guessed that the girl harbored a secret desire to be a Grey Warden.

She was back from Vigil's Keep, the fortress of the Arls of Amaranthine, and had spent some time with the Orlesian Wardens there. She had, it seemed, been impressed by them. That did not speak well for her, in Loghain's opinion, but she was the King's choice. Perhaps he was trying to place someone among the Wardens who would report back to him.

"I do truly wish to devote my life to fighting the darkspawn, Warden-Commander," she said to Loghain. She was certainly keen: her blue eyes bright with determination. "There is no nobler cause in all Thedas! I haven't taken my Joining yet, but I look forward to fighting at your side."

"Quite right," said Maude, with an encouraging smile. Only those who knew her well would notice the signs of strain around her eyes. "If you're absolutely sure you want to Join, then by all means come along. I am sure we'll be glad of your sword."

The girl was completely rigged out in Warden gear already, even to the winged helmet. A hero-worshipper, then, though not particularly a worshipper of Loghain, nor even of Maude. No, it was handsome, empty-headed Chantry Boy who had her devotion. No one could miss the wide-eyed adoration. Anora would probably be happy to get her out of the Palace.

* * *

They traveled fairly lightly on their way to Vigil's Keep, loading Meghren the mule only with what they would need personally for a brief visit. Anora had given them a dozen men at arms, and a wagon to transport the additional supplies that would likely be welcome to the Wardens, as well as a pair of servants and a cook. They made a sizeable party.

Maude persisted in wearing Sophia's old armor. To Loghain's knowledge, she had never tried on the Archdemon armor, or even touched it. It remained on the armor stand in her old room at the Compound. At the moment, Loghain thought it was best not to speak of it.

After only an hour or two on the road, other people followed in their wake, wanting the protection that Loghain and his command could provide.

"There's trouble in the Wending Wood, my lord," one elderly carter told him earnestly. "Some lads came running south on the road awhile back. Said the trees themselves had turned on them. Crazy talk, but there's darkspawn and all. You don't mind if we follow on behind, do you?"

"You can come with us as far as Vigil's Keep," Loghain told him. "That's where we're headed."

A two day journey by horseback stretched to three, but Loghain had expected that, since they had their own wagon. Six of Anora's men were detailed to serve as a rear guard.

Mhairi insisted on taking point, claiming that she was "leading" them to Vigil's Keep. Maude sweetly pointed out that she had visited the Keep frequently from her earliest years.

"I know the Vigil extremely well. The guest bedchamber they used to put me in had a wonderful view of the mouth of the Hafter River. Some of the guest rooms are pretty grim, but the ones on the east side at least have good air and a view. The Howes put all their money into the Great Hall. The rest of the place, frankly, is fairly dismal. We always spent part of Justinian there, and we'd go fishing in the backwater, or net shieldfins in the shallows."

"Shieldfins," Anders mused. "Those are good eating…"

Loghain was also familiar with Vigil's Keep. Still, he preferred to let the young knight ride ahead. It kept her away from Maude, and it prevented Mhairi from speaking to him. Everything she said to him either began or ended with the title "_Warden-Commander,"_ pronounced in an aggravatingly reverent, breathless tone.

He kept his eyes open as they traveled through the Wending Wood. There was something here: something angry and malignant. Maude caught his eye, evidently sensing the same thing.

Trees loomed over the road on either side of them. The sun's rays were fractured by the dense foliage, and only a feeble dappled light reached the forest floor. Distant, creaking noises, like the sighing of boughs in a high wind, drifted from the dark wood. Loghain peered into the trees. There was no high wind, but only a slight breeze. Whatever it was, it was not darkspawn, and he could not take the time to investigate it, since there was no way he wanted his people to stay here overnight. They would push on, and then camp where his map showed the Blackmarsh Road branching from the Pilgrim's Path.

At the next bend in the road, the way was blocked by an overturned, smoking wagon and a pair of dead oxen. When some of the guardsmen broke ranks to move the obstacles, Loghain called them back sharply.

"No! Stay alert. You people!" he ordered the folk traveling with them. "Move all that out of the way!"

Maude murmured, "I should check it for traps."

He gave her a nod, and she dropped lightly to the ground, warily approaching the wreckage. Ranger padded next to her, muzzle thrust forward as he sniffed. Maude examined the site, and then waved a trio of farm laborers to join her.

"What a stink!" one complained.

"They've been dead at least a full day," Maude called back to Loghain. "A pair of humans—traders, it looks like. The wagon's been looted. This wasn't darkspawn."

The dead men were carried to the side of the road and covered with a scrap of blanket found in the back of the wagon. With greater effort the oxen were dragged out of the way.

Mhairi cried, "We're not just going to leave those poor souls to the wolves, are we, Warden-Commander? Won't we give them to the fire?" There were murmurs of sympathy and agreement from the civilians in their caravan.

Maude rolled her eyes at Loghain and shrugged. If they were alone, it was obvious what the answer would be, but they were not alone. The dead men were put in the back of their own wagon, wrapped in some spare blankets, and they hastened ahead.

After another three miles the woods slipped away behind them, and they were out in the flat coastal plain. Without delay, the dead men were laid out and the mages ordered to burn the bodies. This display of magic alarmed some, but there was only so much Loghain was willing to do to appease people's sensibilities. When that was done, the sun was low in the sky. They moved on another mile, and camped by a spring marked on Loghain's map of Amaranthine.

It was a very orderly, well-guarded camp. Morrigan discreetly cast a few wards, but the watch could be kept by the soldiers. Loghain patrolled the camp's perimeter himself, getting the feel of the place. That malevolent presence, whatever it had been, had not followed them here.

It was a luxury to have their own cook with them and supplies enough even to satisfy hungry Wardens. They talked quietly of their plans for the morrow. A short day's travel would take them to Vigil's Keep, and Loghain would want a full report from Kristoff of the Orlesian Wardens' activities in the Arling of Amaranthine.

Maude was having a quiet conversation with Mhairi. It surprisedLoghain a little, because it was obvious that Maude did not particularly like the young woman. Loghain thought her pleasant enough, though he could see why Maude might find Mhairi's vocal self-righteousness a bit wearing.

Whatever they were discussing, they were clearly not in agreement. Mhairi's voice rose, loud enough to be heard on the other side of the campfire.

"I'm not afraid of sacrifice," she declared.

"That's because you've never sacrificed anything yourself," Maude shot back. "I wish I could make clear to you what you might be giving up. Being a Warden isn't grand, and it isn't glorious, and most of the world will never know what you've done for them, or care much, even if they do. I can tell you this: you will be risking your life from the very beginning. If you make it through the first day, you will eventually die a lonely and horrible death, killed by hideous monsters. And there's another thing: if you ever want children, you should take care of that _before_ you Join. You won't have time or opportunity later."

"The security of Thedas should be everyone's first priority, _Senior Warden,"_ Mhairi rebutted smugly. ""I would _think_ you understood that."

Loghain immediately put a stop to what would certainly turn out badly. "Enough, Mhairi! Maude _is_ Senior Warden here, and you will not bandy words with her."

"As you say, Warden-Commander." Mhairi bowed her submission, but, feeling she had won the day, sauntered off to her tent with a smile. Maude stared at her retreating back in disbelief, and blew out a long breath.

Morrigan gave Maude a curious look. "That is certainly not the speech you gave me. Have you changed your opinion so much?"

Maude shook her head, and lowered her voice. "No. You and she are totally different people. I was absolutely sure you would survive the Joining, and I hoped that you would agree that this was the best way to ensure a good life and immunity from the Chantry for you. Plus, we had to consider how best to avoid an attack on you by Flemeth. As for the rest," she smirked at Morrigan, "you've had a dose of Avernus' super-Warden potion, and you're a mage yourself. You traveled with Wardens for over a year, and you had a pretty good idea what you were getting into. Avernus managed to avoid the Calling, and it could be that the potion alone will do that. Mhairi is not a mage, and she's not even a sensible person. She's a clueless lamb to the slaughter. But I warned her, and now I'm done. Especially after her last stupidly condescending remark."

Anders poked the fire. "You don't think she'll survive the Joining."

"We'll see, won't we?" Maude said. She sat down by Ranger, and gave him a proper belly rub, while the fire popped and crackled into the lengthening silence.

* * *

A little after noon of the following day, they arrived at Vigil's Keep. Instead of being greeted by Arlessa Delilah and the Orlesian Wardens, they were met by the ominous sight of black smoke hovering over the battlements, and a pack of darkspawn chasing a screaming man out of the courtyard, straight in their direction.

Mhairi was horrified. "The darkspawn are_ in_ the castle?"

Maude was indignant. "Delilah had better not have given them the good bedchambers!"

* * *

_Notes—Thanks to my reviewers: Guile, Shakespira, Josie Lange, Phygmalion, Lehni, Judy, Enaid Aderyn, Aoi24, Jenna53, gaj620, mutive, Shikyo-sama, Fastforwarmotion, Kira Kyuuketsuki, mille libri, JackOfBladesX, PhoenixFawkes310, wayfaringpanda, Evalyne, Amhran Comhrac, icey cold, Zute, Sarah1281, and Piceron._

The _Garethopedia_ is a nod to proud father Walter Shandy's _Tristopedia_ in Laurence Sterne's _Tristram Shandy. _

_In icey cold's superb_ Trovommi Amor, _Empress Celene uses a hairpin in a lethal manner. I have no doubt that Maude could do likewise. I also do not doubt that Eleanor Cousland would own something of the sort.  
_

_Pride and Prejudice_ appeared in Denerim through a dimensional rift, and was immediately adapted by a quick-witted Chantry sister, eager to provide the Fereldans with something other than the usual trashy Orlesian romances.


	22. These Darkspawn Talk, But Not Very Well

**The Keening Blade:**  
**Chapter 22: These Darkspawn Talk, But Not Very Well  
**

There was just time to call the guards to form a protective shield around their civilians, and then the darkspawn were upon them. Loghain glanced briefly at the man being pursued, who wore the colors of the Howe castle guard. The man saw them with a look of unutterable relief, and then, to his credit, joined them in fighting the darkspawn.

Once the handful of genlocks was dispatched, Maude questioned the man in her most soothing tones.

He could only babble his answer. "I don't know! I don't know! All of a sudden the darkspawn were just_ there!_ I don't know what happened to the Wardens…"

Mhairi broke in to ask Loghain, "How could the Wardens not sense them?"

"It doesn't matter," Maude said fiercely. "We will go in there and kill every last one of the bastards!"

"Right!"

The hysterical mob of civilians was ready to break and run for Amaranthine, but Loghain shouted them down, and pointed out that the city was a half-day's journey distant.

"You are safer here, surrounded by guards. Remain where you are. If you have bows, keep them ready. We Wardens will go in and clear out the darkspawn."

The castle's pastures were fenced. There were scattered darkspawn inside. Methodically, these were surrounded, frozen by the mages, and dispatched. In the outer courtyard, they met shrieks and an ogre. And here they found more of the castle guards, putting up a last-ditch struggle against the invaders.

"We'd better pick up the pace," Maude said," if we're going to save these people."

It helped a great deal that he and Maude knew their way around this castle. If the darkspawn had been able to organize a resistance, they might have slowed down or damaged the Wardens. As it was, the creatures fought as they had always fought: in small bands, rushing madly at the Wardens without guile or skill. In the inner courtyard, they prepared to meet another pack of the creatures, when an explosion rocked the castle, and the darkspawn dissolved into fragments.

Standing above them on a gallery, a crazed dwarf capered about, cackling in delight. "It'll take more than that to kill us, beasties!" Before Loghain could shout questions at the madman, he had disappeared behind a low wall, presumably off to find more of whatever had caused that explosion.

"Good to know that somebody's putting up a fight besides us!" Maude declared.

Running through the passageways, they saw the usual trophies of the darkspawn: men and women mutilated; others hanging from roofbeams. On the brighter side,they also began finding more of the castle's survivors: a group of trembling maidservants who had hidden in the sewing room; a pair of men fighting some hurlocks in an antechamber; another half-dozen servitors barricaded in the larder. As soon as these were directed join the safety of the guardsmen in the outer courtyard, they moved on, and heard the sounds of clashing steel up ahead.

"The upper guardroom!" Maude shouted. "Come on!"

A blazing battle unfolded before them as they rushed through the doorway: on a gallery up a short ramp, a lone warrior was holding off a half-dozen darkspawn, grunting and cursing as his huge axe mowed them down.

Loghain blinked. Morrigan, disgusted, groaned, "Oh, no!" Ranger uttered a short happy bark of recognition. Maude called out, "Oghren! It's wonderful to see you!"

The red-bearded dwarf caught sight of them, and gave them a nonchalant wave. Then he swung his axe once more, chopping through a darkspawn emissary's spine.

"You know him?" Anders shouted at Morrigan over the noise of battle.

"Alas, yes," Morrigan confirmed, making a face.

When the darkspawn were down and dead, Oghren grinned, and sauntered over to the gallery rail. "Aha! There y'are! I knew when my old pals showed up, the darkspawn would be spitting teeth out of their arses. All I had to do was follow the screaming. Good on ya!"

Maude came forward, grinning. "I had no idea you were here!"

Mhairi made a face. "You_ know _this dwarf? He was here when I left. I can't believe the Wardens didn't kick him out!"

Unfazed, Oghren leered at her. "Hey! It's the recruit with the great rack! And Morrigan! Hotter than ever in that armor. Who's the mage with you? Boyfriend? Should I leave you two alone?"

Morrigan only rolled her eyes. Anders smirked and remarked, "Well, what do you know? A dwarf who smells like a brewery. You never see those _anywhere."_

"Heh. A mage comedian. Thought those normally died young."

Loghain cut through the backbiting. "Your axe is welcome, of course. Any particular reason that you're here?"

"I thought I'd try my hand at becoming a bona fide Grey Warden. They said they'd made you commander, Loghain. Crazy world, eh?"

Maude asked, with mild reproof. "And what about Felsi? I thought you were going to marry her!"

"I _am_ married!" Oghren instantly declared. "And Felsi's great! Got a sprog up the spout, too. And I like drinking ale and all, but that fella at the Spoiled Princess got the idea that he could make me _serve_ it. Not the life for me."

"Let me see..." Morrigan considered. "You are saying that you were bored, too lazy to work, and have abandoned your pregnant wife. Is that about the size of it?"

"Yup," Oghren admitted shamelessly. "And I haven't exactly _abandoned _her. She knows where to find me."

"Oh. And we all look forward to that so very much," Loghain remarked grimly. "You do know there are risks involved in Joining the Wardens?"

Oghren scoffed. "There are risks involved in getting up in the morning. I piss on risk!"

"I'm sure risk appreciates it," muttered Anders.

"It _is_ easier for men to piss on risk," Maude told a bemused Mhairi.

"Enough!" Loghain growled. "This way!"

They pushed deeper and higher into the Keep, and found yet more survivors. More darkspawn, too. Along the west wing, they came upon a pack of the creatures trying to break down a door. Morrigan was able to freeze nearly all of them as they crowded together, and they were smashed and shattered into red icicles.

"It's the solar! Anyone in there?" called Maude. "You can come out now!"

"Maude!" Delilah Howe shouted back. "Is that you?"

From inside came the thuds and scrapes of furniture being moved. The door to the solar-the Arlessa's private sitting room- was opened, revealing a group of grim-faced soldiers led by a white-haired man in good armor. This man introduced himself as Varel, the seneschal of Vigil's Keep. Delilah, surrounded by her women, was safe and unharmed. She embraced Maude tightly, nearly in tears.

"Thank you, thank you for coming! Tell me...is anyone else alive?" She put out a hand to Loghain. "My lord...Warden...your arrival could not have been more timely!"

"My lady," Loghain said. "We cannot linger. We are clearing out the Keep, and there are quite a few survivors. You men!" he ordered. "Keep the Arlessa here, and guard her. Barricade the door again, and we will return when all is secure." He gestured at the Wardens to follow him.

"Wait!" Delilah protested, "Have you seen my-"

They hurried away, through passages narrow and curved. There was the body of a eviscerated knight up ahead, and Mhairi caught her breath in a gasp. She cried out when the body moved feebly, and she rushed to the man's side.

"Rowland!" She told Loghain, "He was recruited from Denerim with me."

In her softest voice, Maude asked Anders, "Is there anything you can do?" Loghain grimaced and met Morrigan's eyes. It was as clear to her as to him that no magic could put the bowels back in the man's body.

Anders knelt to look closer. and shook his head. "Maybe some liquor to dull the pain..."

Oghren snorted. "I like the way you think!"

Mhairi turned on him, teary-eyed, "It's not funny!" She clutched at Rowland's hand, and Loghain guessed at something more than comradeship between them. It was sad, but it happened all the time. All the time.

Rowland peered past her at Loghain. "Warden-Commander?"

Loghain crouched down by the dying man, hoping to make some sort of sense of this disaster. "What happened here?"

His breath bubbling, the man croaked. "We only had a moment's warning,before the darkspawn were on us. The seneschal spirited the Arlessa away, but the creatures were everywhere. There is one with them.. a darkspawn who talks...his magic is powerful..."

A brief, horrified moment. Loghain nearly shut his eyes, but did not allow himself the weakness. _The Architect? Here in Amaranthine?_

Oghren snorted in disbelief. "A darkspawn who talks? The lad's delirious."

Anders and Morrigan exchanged grimaces, while Maude glared furiously at Loghain, as if holding him personally responsible for the verbal abilities of the darkspawn. She told Oghren. "Maybe not so delirious. Loghain had word of such a creature."

Rowland groaned aloud. "There's something in my blood. It...hurts..."

Loghain tried to get the last useful intelligence from the man. "Where is this talking darkspawn?"

The man's head lolled, his eyes drifting toward the stairs to the battlements. "It went that way...after...War...dens..." His eyes rolled back, and his life was gone with a last gurgling breath.

Mhairi kissed his brow, murmuring, "I will avenge you Rowland. I _swear _it."

Maude urged the woman up, and they moved quickly on, climbing the staircase. A final, broken door, and they stepped out into a chilly night filled with the cries of dying men. Maude and Ranger dashed to the front, rounding a corner, and then, before them, were the last of the darkspawn and their victims.

They had arrived just in time to see one of the Vigil's defenders thrown to his death from the battlements. A few other captives were bound and helpless. Their leader, a defiant young man in black leather armor, was in actual conversation with one of the darkspawn: on his knees, his hands tied behind his back, held in the grasp of a pair of hurlocks.

The talking darkspawn looked like nothing so much as a decayed corpse, the bones of the skull clad in only the thinnest membrane. Its face, if you could call it that, was painted grotesquely, and the creature was clad in heavy chainmail and a purple tunic. Its voice was deep and unnatural, as ugly as its appearance.

"Be taking this one gently. We are wishing no more death than is necessary."

"Death! As if you and your kind have ever done anything but kill!"

"You are thinking you know of our kind, human? It is understandable... _but that will soon be changed!"_

"Others will come. And someday a man like me will kill you and your whole fucking race!"

"Well, maybe not a_ man,"_ Maude remarked loudly. In a whisper, she asked Loghain, "Is that The Architect?"

"No," Loghain whispered back, "Maric's description sounded far more human."

The darkspawn's white and opaque gaze turned to the Wardens. "And here are more Wardens, as He foretold."

Anders' face was a study of horrified delight. "It_ is _talking!"

"After a fashion," Maude shrugged. She boldly stepped forward for a closer look.

Morrigan murmured to herself, "Perhaps we should attempt to communicate with this creat…"

The talking darkspawn croaked out, "Capture the Grey Wardens! These others, they may be killed."

No time to speak. Before the hurlock's sword could cut the defiant captive's throat, Anders had frozen the creature in place. The rest of the darkspawn rushed them. Ranger growled, and lowered his head to charge.

"Here comes Oghren!" bellowed the dwarf. Loghain knew the odds of the painted darkspawn surviving to be questioned had just shortened by quite a bit.

The minions fought like any other darkspawn. The one who talked fought with some skill: like a half-trained man, not a beast with a sword in its hands. The creature was strong, and as resistant to pain and damage as any other darkspawn. It could not resist, however, Maude's dagger in its eye; nor the sweep of Oghren's axe as it hewed the creature's legs away; nor the power of the Keening Blade, driving though the mail shirt to find a putrid heart. Even then, the thing squirmed and sputtered long after a human would have been dead. It uttered a final croak, and was still at last. Loghain blew out a breath, looking at the carnage around him. The captives on the rooftop broke the sudden silence, praising the Maker for their rescue. A few, somewhat more sensibly, were praising the Wardens.

"Teyrn Loghain!" Their leader worked free of his bonds and rose to his feet. "It seems that I owe you my life."

"_Warden-Commander_ Loghain," Mhairi corrected him officiously.

"True, I had heard you joined the Grey Wardens and ended the Blight. All Ferelden is in your debt, once again."

Loghain prided himself on never forgetting a face. He was absolutely sure that he knew this young man.

Not so _very _young, actually. Loghain studied him. His features were striking rather than handsome, and he must be in his late twenties at the very least. The silver-grey eyes, the black hair, the hooked nose, the wolfish air—he looked like…he must be…

"You!" the young man's stormy eyes widened, and he glared at Maude with burning hatred.

"Nice to see you, too," Maude responded affably. "You already know Loghain, of course, now Warden-Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. With us are Wardens Morrigan and Anders, and Warden Recruits Oghren and Mhairi. And Ranger, of course. You probably remember him, too. I think he bit you once. My friends," Maude said to her companions, "allow me to present to you a notable friend of my childhood, Lord Nathaniel Howe."

* * *

Solicitous of a new patient, Anders moved in to heal Lord Nathaniel's injuries. A good thing: it kept the man from grabbing the nearest weapon to use on Maude. She, for her part, was looking at him with gentle concern, not at all alarmed by his anger. Loghain stepped in as well, to forestall any violence.

"Where are the Orlesians?" he demanded. "They were supposed to be defending this place from the darkspawn."

Howe snarled, "Well, my lord, you can see for yourself how _that _worked out! The rest of the Wardens can take their chances. At the moment, I'm far more concerned about finding my sister!"

"Delilah is fine," Maude assured him. "She's in the solar, guarded by the seneschal."

A quick descent of the stairs, a quicker walk down the passages, and Nathaniel was holding his sister with desperate strength. She was tearful, but relieved to see him alive. Maude, with careful tact, interrupted this tender moment. "Nathaniel needs to wash off that blood on him. Darkspawn blood is poisonous, and the rest—"

Nathaniel snarled at her, "—is the blood of brave men who stood with me to defend the Vigil."

"—And we won't forget them," Maude told him soothingly, "but you don't want to get that blood on Delilah, and you really, really need to wash it off right away." She glanced at Delilah, tacitly urging her to take her brother in hand.

"Come, Nathaniel, the Warden is right."

Anders was healing a bad cut over the seneschal's eye. Loghain allowed the Arlessa and her brother a moment more, and asked the seneschal, "How did the darkspawn breach the walls?"

Varel replied, "They didn't. It appears that they came up from below, inside the inner courtyard, probably from the dungeons."

"Just like at the Tower of Ishal!" Maude said fiercely. "The vile things burrowed their way in. Didn't the Wardens sense them?"

"An alarm was given, but only at the last moment. It was all I could do to get the Arlessa somewhere defensible." His gaze shifted over to the Howe brother and sister, talking softly to each other. "Lord Nathaniel stood with a band of Wardens. After they perished, he created a diversion and led a large party of darkspawn away, on a chase over the battlements. I am glad to see that they failed to catch him."

"They did at last," Loghain said. "We arrived just in time. Have you seen any of the Wardens since?"

"I believe they were all slain or taken."

"Taken?" Maude interjected. "You mean taken away? " She shook her head. "They do sometimes take male prisoners of course—but Wardens!"

"—all but Kristoff, who was away on a scouting mission," Varel added.

Further conversation revealed that Kristoff had gone off on said mission by himself, and the only thing he had told Varel was that he was checking some leads in the city of Amaranthine.

"Alone!" Maude muttered. "Just like Riordan! I don't know what it is with these men! I think of myself as fairly daring, but I wouldn't give much for my chances single-handed against a large party of darkspawn."

Ranger whined.

Maude nodded, looking wise. "I certainly wouldn't go anywhere without _you,_ darling boy."

They went downstairs to the Great Hall, where most of the survivors were gathering. Delilah cried at the sight of people she knew hanging from crossbeams. These poor souls were cut down, and the surviving servants set either to cooking for the living or to building pyres for the dead. It took some time for everyone to make an appearance. Loghain sent a messenger to the party that had followed them to the Vigil, reassuring them of their safety and assigning them a place to camp in the outer Keep. Their soldiers would keep watch at the gates, while the Wardens cleaned up the darkspawn and their ugly trophies. Anders moved from group to group, healing the wounded.

"Seems to me you're going to need some replacements after this screwed-up mess. So bring on the big cup!" Oghren leered at Maude. "I'm ready to gargle and spit!"

_How much does he know? _Loghain wondered.

Maude answered the dwarf primly. "You're not allowed to spit."

"Haw! That's what I always say!"

"I suppose all are needed in this time of crisis," Mhairi said, her disapproval plain.

The groundskeeper was located, shivering in a chicken coop, and he in turn found some wheelbarrows to pile the dead into. It was a long and unpleasant task. The darkspawn were burned at some distance from the castle; and then the Wardens and the other dead were laid out on separate pyres. Surprisingly, Maude and Mhairi were in agreement about this.

"We'll want to take the Wardens' ashes to Soldier's Peak," Maude declared, "and put them in the nice shrine in the rose garden."

Mhairi asked in surprise, "Is there a rose garden at Soldier's Peak?"

"There will be."

It was also necessary to keep a record of their casualties. Mhairi was able to direct the Wardens to the room that the Orlesians had used for storage and as an office. While Loghain frowned over some notes and maps, and Morrigan poked through the books, Maude found the ledger, and annotated the names of those who had been killed, and those who were simply—lost. It appeared that the Orlesians had recruited four Fereldens since arriving at Vigil's Keep. Rowland and a man named Keenan were the only survivors of the Joining. Maude noted that Rowland was killed in the attack, and that Keenan had been captured by the darkspawn. In addition to Keenan, there were three other Wardens whom Maude marked as "missing." Loghain took Morrigan aside.

"Mix the Joining potion now. If one or both of the recruits is unfortunate, it will be easy enough to add them to the pyre."

A cynical smile: a quick nod. There was certainly no lack of darkspawn blood. Very soon, a cup was produced, and a filthy black liquid prepared.

"I shall fetch Anders," Morrigan said. "He should see this."

Anders arrived, Maude escorted their two new recruits in, and the ceremony began. As usual, Maude recited the ritual words. Loghain had no patience with such trumpery. Besides, Maude's sweet voice rendered the words comforting and eloquent in a way Loghain knew he never could.

"Oghren, you are called to submit yourself to the Taint for the greater good. From this moment, you are a Grey Warden."

A swallow, a belch, and the dwarf's eyes rolled white. Abruptly, he sat down on the stone floor. He was not quite unconscious, but stunned and unresponsive. Nonetheless, he had survived, and was one more Warden for their company.

"Well, I've never seen that before!" Maude told Loghain. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, considering how much darkspawn blood he must have ingested in his lifetime!" She patted the brawny shoulder. "You're a Warden for sure, Oghren. Welcome to the glad throng. You just sit there and rest for awhile."

In a flash she was offering the cup to Mhairi. "You are called to submit yourself to the Taint for the greater good."

"I have awaited this moment!" whispered Mhairi.

What followed was quite horrible. Loghain would never forget the sight of the young woman crumpling to her knees; choking, choking; gurgling out her last moments in agony.

Maude sighed. "I am sorry, Mhairi." She added, "I really am. Nobody deserves that."

Anders moved forward, but Morrigan barred him with a quick arm.

"'Tis over. There is nothing to be done."

Anders was horrified. "Is that _normal?_ How often does that happen?"

Maude shrugged. "I don't have ages and ages of records like the First Warden. My guess is that it's about fifty-fifty, maybe, with much better odds for mages. At my own Joining, there were three of us. The first two died, and only I made it."

"That must have been…fun…" he managed.

"You have no idea."

They removed the poor girl's armor and weapons and wrapped her in a length of linen. Maude knelt down by Oghren, and gave his shoulder a shake.

"Oghren!"

"Arrrrrgh..."

"Oghren, we've got to have the funeral for the Wardens now. Do you think you can manage to come along? You'll be sorry if you don't."

"Feellikenugshit..."

"Of course you do. That's perfectly normal. All the same, I think you should try to come along."

He did, supported by Maude's strong right arm. Loghain carried Mhairi's lifeless form over his shoulder, and laid her on the pyre with the rest of the Wardens. Before it was set alight, Maude studied the bodies on the pyre somberly, sighing. "Look... there's poor old Constant…"

Oghren muttered, "Shame about the kid. She was all right."

The survivors seemed to be in hand. It was time to make careful survey of the shattered castle's defenses. One of the remaining soldiers, a quiet and competent-seeming sergeant named Maverlies, could show them where the darkspawn had come from.

"This is where I saw them come pouring out," she told them, opening the door to the dungeons. These were accessed from a smallish, free-standing building in the inner courtyard. "It's possible there are still darkspawn down there. The Vigil goes deep: real deep."

"Vigil's Keep is old," Maude agreed. "It's older than Highever Castle or even Soldier's Peak. This was an Alamarri stronghold for thousands of years, even before the Tevinters came. It was called 'The Fort of a Thousand Vigils' in those days. It's possible the earlier forts were built over the dungeons, which are indeed as deep as the good sergeant says. Nathaniel's mother forbade us to play in them."

"Let me guess—" Loghain ventured "—so you did anyway."

"Some," Maude admitted, "but we were little, and we could sense things down there that weren't…friendly. And I didn't want to mess with Rendon in those days. Or my mother."

"We'll secure this before anything else," Loghain decided. "The Vigil must be made safe for the survivors, and it will give us a base for further operations."

Anders was looking pained. Oghren frowned thunderously. Morrigan fixed Loghain with a haughty stare. Maude merely raised her brows, and scratched Ranger's ears. The dog gazed at Loghain in mute appeal.

"—After we have something to eat," he agreed. He was ravenously hungry himself

Morrigan said, "I shall meanwhile ward the entrance—over by those stairs. It will hold anything back for some time."

"Do it," he told her quietly.

Maude mused, as they made their way to the Great Hall. "The darkspawn were looking for Grey Wardens. They really weren't all that interested in any one else."

"They pursued Lord Nathaniel," Anders pointed out.

"He took care to provoke them, and he had Grey Warden blood all over him. Maybe they were confused."

* * *

It was a late and quiet dinner. Even Nathaniel Howe was too grief-stricken to give Maude more than a few poisonous glares. His sister saw him looking, and laid a restraining hand on his arm, whispering in his ear. The young nobleman scowled, but held his peace.

Varel, the Keep seneschal, proved himself invaluable. It became obvious that he was the only person who could give them some clue as to what the Wardens had been doing in Amaranthine. He also knew more Warden secrets than he ought to. He sat down with the Wardens and spoke in a low voice, inaudible to the rest of the crowd in the Great Hall.

"The Orlesian Wardens honored me with their confidence, Warden-Commander," the man gravely informed Loghain. "They explained to me that it was sometimes possible to share their secrets with someone they trusted. I was better able to be of service that way. I assisted them at their Joinings."

Loghain did not like it, but understood. It was useless to be angry with the man. "All right then, let's talk. You already told me that Kristoff was in Amaranthine, following some leads. What leads?"

"He did not confide in me, Commander. More recently, however, we heard a curious rumor about a hunter falling into a hole in the ground and seeing a party of darkspawn. The hunter's name was Colbert, and he too is in Amaranthine. Kristoff would not have known of this, we believe, and the Wardens were planning to send a messenger to Amaranthine when this disaster befell us."

"Actually," Anders put in, "I'd like to go to Amaranthine. I know people there."

"Are you finished with healing the wounded?"

"I've done about all that magic can do," Anders said. "The rest can be handled by the regular medics. So, can we go to Amaranthine? Really?"

"We can," Loghain allowed. "I think we must."

Maude considered. "It sounds like Amaranthine will be on our schedule, just as soon as we clean out the dungeons here. Are you feeling up to it, Oghren?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"All right," Loghain said, knowing he was malingering over a last, unnecessary bowl of stew. "Let's go."

At the entrance to the dungeons, Nathaniel Howe caught up with them.

"Where are you going?"

Loghain did not mince words. "I am told that the darkspawn invaded the castle through the dungeons. We are on our way to clear out whatever remains there."

"I'm going with you."

Loghain frowned briefly at Rendon Howe's son. The resemblance to his father was strong, though Nathaniel was far better-looking than his father ever had been. But there was another resemblance that disturbed him: in his black leather armor, carrying a heavy bow, Loghain was uncomfortably reminded of himself, a lifetime ago, as he had been in the days of the Rebellion.

"Your sister needs your protection—"

"Varel is with Delilah. There might be more survivors in the dungeons. Some of our people fled that way when the alarm was first sounded."

Maude raised her brows expressively at Morrigan, who made a face. Loghain understood that they thought the chances for those survivors were minimal. Nonetheless, a good archer was always useful. Another thought crossed his mind.

"Excuse us," he said abruptly to his party, and laid a firm hand on Lord Nathaniel's arm, escorting him out of earshot.

"An archer, positioned behind everyone else, might easily shoot one of his own party in the back by mistake," he began, very grimly.

Howe gazed back at him, his silver-grey eyes eerily like his father's. "Such things have happened in the heat of the moment."

Loghain snarled, "Such things had bloody well better _not_ happen. If Maude were to take an arrow while we are fighting darkspawn or at any other time, you will not enjoy the consequences, either to you, your surviving family, or to Vigil's Keep itself."

"You are no long Regent, to utter those sorts of threats."

"I don't need to be." He held the younger man's eyes a little longer. "Maude killed your father in a fair fight. She also is responsible for your sister not being dead, or at best the dispossessed wife of a shopkeeper in Amaranthine. Had it not been for Maude, the King would have given the entire Arling to the Wardens, and your sister might well have been executed. Maude has not held the actions of your father against you or your sister. I strongly recommend that you forgo all thoughts of vengeance."

Nathaniel looked away, his lips twisted in a bitter smile. "So Delilah keeps telling me."

"Your sister is a sensible woman."

"I just need to know what happened. I need to know if he suffered...He must have had his reasons to think the Couslands were traitors—"

Loghain did not have time or inclination to go into this very dangerous issue with young Howe. "Lord Nathaniel, it's over. Perhaps at some future time, when you and Maude are at leisure, she might be willing to discuss this, but _not now._ Your sister is Arlessa, and the Howes are still in the Landsmeet. Were I you, I would give more thought to protecting my sister and my people from deadly danger, and not concern myself with the past."

"Is that your own philosophy?" Howe asked. "That woman forced you into the Wardens, and you lost your title and your lands. Have you really forgiven her?"

"Yes. It proved to be the only way to save Ferelden, and that is what I have always wanted most." Loghain added, "And she is not 'that woman,' but my wife. You would be wise to remember it."

A soft voice interrupted their conversation.

"If you're going into the dungeons, you'll need these keys," Delilah Howe said. She had appeared, wan and wraithlike, in the open doorway to the Keep.

"Delilah!" Nathaniel hurried to her, giving her a quick embrace with his free arm and a kiss on the cheek. "Stay inside and keep the door barred!"

She put the keys in his hand; then touched his face and whispered something to him, her brow knit in earnest plea. Her brother scowled and glanced Maude's way, and then bit his lip and nodded.

"I'll hold you to that," Delilah said, loudly enough to be overheard.

More guards were filtering out, watching the door to the dungeons anxiously. More inhabitants of the Keep, too. Loghain spotted the crazy dwarf with the explosives. Standing with him was another dwarf with a family resemblance, albeit a more sober expression.

"Come, then," Loghain called to Howe.

The narrow stairs must have been replaced only a few years ago. They were steep but sound, and the Wardens and their companion archer descended them, passing layers of raw stone. The reached the foot of the stairs and followed a passage, beamed and plastered, which opened out to a wide, strange chamber, filled with the detritus of past ages: crude statues of warriors and large effigies of three-headed snakes.

"Those are Tatankri, aren't they?" Anders asked, fascinated. "The ancient Alamarri worshiped them."

"Among other things," Maude agreed, examining the bodies of some dead darkspawn. "Oh, and behind you is a Tataroki."

"Whoa!" Anders started at the sight of the creature: a stumpy, four-legged body, and three fanged and heavy heads. "I can't even guess what they were meant to be."

"They're Tataroki," Maude repeated, with exaggerated patience. "Spirits of the earth and servants of Haakon, who-"

Her explanation was cut short when Ranger barked and dashed forward. Loghain saw the prone body of a mabari a moment later. Ranger sniffed at the wounded dog anxiously. Then his blunt, doggy face snapped up, and he rushed at Anders, crying and whining.

"She's badly hurt," Maude murmured, kneeling by the wounded dog. "Anders, is there something you can do?"

Anders shrugged, and told Howe with a hint of swagger, "I usually heal people, but I can even do dogs in a pinch."

Morrigan rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. Oghren grinned at her.

"There's something around her neck," Loghain said, untying a cord. He glanced at the rolled up message. "A plea for help from someone named Adria."

Maude took a quick breath and glanced at Nathaniel Howe. For the first time, the controlled sneer dissolved from the man's face. "Adria! We must save her!"

Loghain wondered if this was a sweetheart, but Maude swiftly cleared up the matter. "Poor relation of the Howes," she whispered to Loghain. "She was their governess from the time they were small. She's very nice." She said a little more loudly. "I didn't know she had a mabari."

Howe came closer, watching as Anders murmured over the hound. "I'm told it happened two years ago, when Father meant to give some bann or other a puppy. It imprinted on Adria instead. Delilah said he was furious, but Adria was family, after all." He added, very gently, "Her name is Topaz."

"That's a pretty name!" Maude cooed at the dog. "What a good, brave girl you are, Topaz!" Already healing under Anders' expert care, the dog responded with a faint snuffle. Ranger licked her face industriously.

"Here now, move that tongue," Anders ordered, "I'm trying to fix her ear." He paused. "That's about all I can do for now. I'm going to spell her asleep, and we'll collect her later."

"Well done," Loghain unbent enough to say. Dogs were valuable creatures, and generally more honorable than people.

"Can we go now?" asked Morrigan impatiently. "Surely there are darkspawn to eradicate!" Howe cast a puzzled and unfriendly look her way.

"Come on, Ranger!" Maude called. "We'll check on her on the way back."

Oghren rumbled a laugh. "Fereldans and their dogs!"

They moved on to the next passage, and descended another ramp into the next chamber.

There they met darkspawn, which they mowed down in short order. Then, they moved on to side chambers, making certain that nothing could take them unawares from behind.

There were shrieks down there, as well as hurlocks and darkspawn mages. Loghain found shrieks particularly disturbing. That they were born of elven women seemed unbelievable. The creatures had pointed ears, but they were huge…and had enormous claws.

Maude was looting the dead as usual, picking through crates and chests, collecting anything interesting, but she was doing it with sublime discretion and with the assistance of Morrigan, who would distract Nathaniel Howe with a question while Maude pocketed another treasure. Oghren saw them at it, grinned broadly, and started up a conversation with Howe himself.

"So you're Rendon Howe's little blighter…"

Loghain ground his teeth. Everyone was being deliberately provoking. He punched Maude lightly on the arm. She winked at him.

Down another flight of steps they found a number of large barred cells. There were human prisoners in them, huddled against the back walls to avoid the human-shaped things that were milling about.

"Ghouls," Maude said tersely, her smile vanishing. "They've been infected by the darkspawn. Their minds are gone. Kill them all."

Some were naked, some were clothed: all were weaponless. They took a great deal of killing, being insensible to pain and fear.

When they lay dead, Howe, obviously distressed, walked among them, recognizing some the men. "There was no way to cure them?" he asked Loghain, ignoring Maude.

Loghain knew little of ghouls, though he had done some reading of the Grey Warden texts. Knowing Maude, however, he was sure that if there was a way to save them, she had tried it. He merely answered, "None. Death is a mercy in that state. In fact, they would have died fairly soon, anyway."

"Horrible," muttered Howe. He strode over to glare at the men in the cells.

"Thank the Maker you've come, my lord!" one prisoner croaked. "Please let us out, before more of those things come."

"Worthless drunkards," Howe hissed, unlocking the door. "You were safe here while better folk died. Go on! Get out!"

"Thank you, my lord!" "Maker bless you, my lord!" and they were gone, pounding away up the stairs.

Howe shrugged. "I had them locked up for being drunk and disorderly. I'm surprised the darkspawn didn't break into the cells."

"They can't," Maude told him. "They're too stupid, and ghouls are stupid, too. Unless the darkspawn found a way to dig through the rock, the men would have died of thirst and hunger eventually."

"Maker!" Howe muttered.

"Oh, and I found these letters," Maude told him virtuously, handing him a packet of parchment. "They're in Delilah's handwriting. I'm sure she'd want them back."

He took them and actually thanked her, automatic good manners temporarily overcoming his loathing.

And now they had a choice: a heavy iron-bound door, or a smaller door that led further down.

"Still locked," said Howe testing the heavier door. "This leads to the crypt. If the darkspawn can't get through locks, then this is still secure. Maybe Adria locked herself in here." He pounded on the door. "Adria! It's Nathaniel!" There was no answer. Howe pounded again, to no avail.

"I could unlock it…" he offered.

"No time," Loghain said tersely. "She's not there, and neither are the darkspawn, it seems. This way, then," Another short passage, and they seemed to be reaching a mine rather than a finished chamber, for it was lined with jagged rock, like a fanged mouth, and there was only darkness beyond it. Low rocky ceilings were supported by occasional crude pillars. The entrance was lit by guttering torches. In the dim light, they could see movement.

A figure shambled out to confront them: a middle-aged woman, in the silk gown of a lady, the fine fabric now soiled and tattered. Even in the gloom Loghain could see the blotchy grey skin and sunken eyes.

"No, no! Adria!" Nathaniel groaned. He shook his head, not wanting to believe the truth. "There must be some way…"

The woman growled and rushed at them, teeth bared to bite. Behind her more ghouls stumbled out to attack, their faces contorted with hunger and mindless rage.

Loghain himself struck down the poor woman. It would be unnecessarily cruel to force young Howe to kill someone he loved, even though everything that had made her human was gone. They hacked and shot and bespelled the ghouls until they lay dead. Howe knelt in grief over the woman's body, while Maude flickered here and there, prying into pockets, occasionally smiling. Morrigan carefully blocked any view of her at crucial moments.

Then Maude picked up a stray piece of parchment, read it, and her face changed into a mask of malevolence. Loghain was alarmed, and stepped over quickly, taking the parchment from her.

_"My lord Howe,_

_Some of the men are not pleased with your plan. They will incite others against you. For the plan to succeed, our forces must be united. If word gets out, if even one of them informs Cousland, it will be your head on a plate. I say this will all due respect, ser._

_Your captain,_

_Lowan"_

"Bastard!" Maude hissed under her breath, her eyes narrowed at the figure of Nathaniel Howe, still kneeling by the dead woman.

"Not now, Maude," Loghain hissed back. She snatched the parchment from him, and stuffed it under her armor. With deliberate defiance, she walked over to one of the body and began rifling it openly. She uttered a short sharp laugh when something glittered in her hand, and she tossed it to Anders.

"Here! This is for you. I think it would look rather fetching."

It was a heavy gold earring. Anders grinned back, a little weakly, and Morrigan only shrugged. Loghain led them away, to where the tunnel ended in caved-in boulders. It was clear what had happened here. The survivors had been trapped, with nowhere else to go. They had held off the darkspawn, but had become Tainted, and those who did not immediately become ghouls had been torn to pieces by the rest.

There was a noise behind them, More people were coming through the passageways, led by Sergeant Maverlies. She was gazing at Loghain in awe.

"You hear stories about the Wardens, but to see it first hand!"

"Arrange retrieval for these people," he said gruffly, gesturing at the pitiful ghouls. "And burn them and the darkspawn."

Maude was counting the coins she had found, seeming very pleased at her find. "And be very careful to keep your hands covered, and wipe your gloves off afterward, " she added. "Some of these people went mad after coming into contact with the darkspawn."

"Yes, ser, at once," the sergeant replied. "And I brought Master Voldrik along. It looks like his brother's explosions caved in the roof here."

The sober-faced dwarf Loghain had seen in the courtyard moved around the tall sergeant, examining the rubble.

"So this is how you humans ply your stonecraft! Disgraceful! This sort of work would last only a few hundred years. Interesting, though. I'll wager this connects somewhere to the Deep Roads."

"Really?" Maude said, interested. "That would make sense, Loghain. The darkspawn were in the Deep Roads and found a way to the surface through the dungeons."

Maverlies was horrified. "There are half a dozen basement entrances at Vigil's Keep. Those things could attack again at any time!"

Loghain thought quickly. "We need to find a single point to block off." He asked the dwarf, "Is that feasible?"

"Aye," Voldrik nodded. "If you follow the tunnels, you should find a single passage. With your muscle and my stonecraft, we'll find a way to close it down. I'll have the lads clear the rubble."

There was nothing to do for the time being but go back to the surface. Nathaniel Howe trailed along, his face fallen into misery. The others left him to his grief, and focused on their new relationships.

"Are you staring at me?" Oghren growled at Anders.

"Am I"? the mage asked innocently. "I thought perhaps a big hairy animal had attacked your face, but it was just your beard. What a relief."

"Think you're smart, don't you? Sparklefingers."

Morrigan was magnificently unconcerned. Maude grinned enormously. Ranger trotted a little faster, and looked up at Maude to remind her of something of great importance.

"Yes, we'll go check on her right now."

Topaz, Adria's faithful hound, was still dirty and bloody when they awakened her, but her wounds were quite thoroughly healed. She snuffled sleepily, and then sneezed. With a puzzled whine she looked back at the passageway.

"Come on, Topaz," Maude urged sweetly. "You'd better come with us!"

Ranger barked commandingly, and Topaz, after a last, wistful look behind her, trotted after him.

* * *

After what seemed like days, they were shown to hastily prepared bedchambers and given water to wash in. The darkspawn, luckily, had not succeeded in getting into every room in the castle. The rooms given to the Wardens were the rooms that had previously been occupied by Wardens who had died—or been abducted—that very day.

"Yes! A room with a view!" Maude leaned out of the window, smiling at the crescent moon reflected in the River Hafter. She poked about the place, while Loghain scrubbed himself clean. "This was Avenall's," Maude said, peering into the wardrobe. "Poor sod. Of course I shouldn't say that. Better dead than carried off by the darkspawn like Larrimore and Thierry. Oh, look! He had a copy of _The Book of the Sword_. The really nice edition with the colored illustrations. This is worth a lot, but I think we should keep it for the Warden Library. I'll go through the other rooms later."

Loghain grunted, his mind on something that had bothered him since dinner. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became at Kristoff, at Duncan, and at all Orlesians in general.

"Did you _hear_ Varel?" He could feel rage sweep over him like a great wave, irresistible. "The Orlesians 'honored' him with their confidence! He assisted at Joinings! Kristoff could blab to a castle seneschal in order to make his life easier, but Duncan couldn't tell the commander of Ferelden's armies _anything_, even to enable me to formulate a realistic strategy at Ostagar!"

Maude shook her head, "It seems insane, to take Warden secrecy to that extreme. Mind you, it seems insane for Kristoff to give away our secrets to Varel, just for his own convenience. When we track him down, let's have a talk about it." She thought a little more. "Duncan's motives will always be something of a mystery, but I stand by my theory that it had a lot to do with your bad personal relationship."

A tremendous racket rose from the room two doors away. Maude glanced up, alert, but it was only Anders and Morrigan, at it again. There was the usual scratching at the door, and Loghain opened it for Ranger. The dog bounded in, his new friend Topaz slinking in behind him.

Maude found another blanket in the wardrobe and spread it out in a corner for the dogs. She gave Topaz a reassuring pat. The dog wagged her stumpy tail halfheartedly, and put her head on her paws, huddling close to Ranger.

"You've still got blood on you," Loghain told Maude. He threw a washcloth at her, and climbed into bed.

She caught the washcloth, laughing, and stripped down quickly. Humming to herself, she began to wash with cheerful energy.

Loghain watched her, admiring how well she looked with nothing on. Not all women, however beautiful, did. "You're in good spirits," he observed, "considering that all the other Wardens are dead, Vigil's Keep has been ravaged, and we know we have talking darkspawn in Amaranthine."

Her reflection in the mirror granted him an odd, grave smile. "The other Wardens are dead? I've been there before. I'm better off now than I was then. It's not just Alistair and me, thank the Maker! It's you, me, Morrigan, Anders, Ranger, and now Oghren. I think we're a pretty strong team. Talking darkspawn? Bad, but after killing dragons, how tough can talking darkspawn be? That one we saw went down fast enough. He didn't talk very _well_, after all." She shrugged. "It's always something...dragons...demons...darkspawn..."

The smile faded, and was replaced by something much darker, something so bitter and vengeful that Loghain was alarmed. She said, "And so Vigil's Keep was sacked by the darkspawn? Well, too bad." She collected herself, and said more calmly, "I'm sorry for the loss of innocent life, but the Howes did far worse to Highever. There are plenty of survivors here. The darkspawn didn't kill _everyone_: every man, woman, and child; every human and elf; every lord, lady, knight, guardsman, scholar, and servant; every bloody_ cat and dog_. I know, as surely as I know anything, that there are people here who participated in and profited by the attack on my family. If they have to scrub their loved ones' blood from the stones, it seems only fitting."

* * *

The Wardens were up at daybreak, readying themselves for the journey to the city. Anders felt that Topaz needed more rest, and she was left behind with Delilah, who herself was up early, seeing to her people. Outside, the sun was rising in blood-red splendor.

Some parts of the fortress were comparatively unharmed. The darkspawn had shown no interest at all in the stables. Loghain found that their mounts had been well cared-for overnight, and the rest of the Wardens' horses were there as well. They now had fifteen spare horses, a valuable resource, as well as as their mule. Meghren could rejoice in a holiday from work today, since the Wardens would be traveling light. Loghain and Maude consulted together, choosing one of the smaller horses for the new Warden.

"I think this was Archand's," Maude said, flipping up some of the tack to search for markings. "No—I'm wrong. This was that new fellow Rowland's. Your horse now, Oghren. The groom says it's a good-tempered beast."

Oghren eyed the horse in dismay. "You want a dwarf to ride a _horse? _Boss-"

"Don't call me 'Boss,'" Maude corrected him in a stage whisper, "Weisshaupt has decreed that Loghain is now officially Boss. So if he says you have to ride a horse—" she let the sentence dangle in the wind.

"—I do say you have to ride a horse," Loghain finished, trying not to show his exasperation at Maude's odd behavior. "We want to get to Amaranthine sometime before Summersday."

"If I can ride, you can ride," Anders told him airily. "Assuming that you are equally teachable."

"Damned right," growled the dwarf. "If Sparklefingers can do it, I can do it."

Loghain shortened the stirrups, showed Oghren the correct way to hold the reins, and then they were off. Oghren would have his riding lessons on the way to Amaranthine.

The dwarf complained bitterly about the new and unpleasant sensations in his legs the first time they rested the horses.

"Are you trying to cripple me? Y'are, aren't you? Admit it. You're just jealous. It's all a cloudhead plot."

"Isn't it nice to have such a good view of everything?" Maude asked soothingly. "You'll get used to it quickly, I'm sure, since you're so strong."

Loghain rolled his eyes. At least the flattery put a stop to the complaints.

They reached Amaranthine in the late morning, passing parties of frightened refugees fleeing the increasing presence of the darkspawn. Ahead, the walls of the city soared up, tall and reassuringly thick.

Equally thick were the guards on duty. One of them imagined that he was going to search their packs. Before the real unpleasantness started, the captain on duty recognized Loghain, and hurried the guard out of the way, muttering to him. The guard craned around for another look at Loghain, gaping.

"I'm looking for a Warden named Kristoff and a hunter named Colbert," Loghain told the constable, who introduced himself as Aidan.

Aidan had never heard of Kristoff, but could direct them to the hunter. Colbert, it transpired, did not live in the city proper, but in a hovel outside the walls. The Wardens found him fairly quickly, sitting in the sun and repairing arrows. With him was a small, fair-haired elf with a fey look to him.

The hunters were delighted to share their tale. They were idiots, but Colbert was not such an idiot that he could not clearly describe where they had fallen into the hole in the ground, and seen the darkspawn running past them. The place was in the west of the arling, in the Knotwood Hills.

"But you were not attacked," Morrigan said, trying to make sense of their story. "You were both right there, screaming loudly, and the darkspawn just…ran past."

Colbert leered approvingly. "That's exactly right, honeypie. That's exactly what happened." He said to Loghain, "You've got a smart one there."

His elf partner smiled dreamily, "Good mind. Well built."

The hunters were paid off, and the Wardens were left to puzzle over the strange story. They found the nearest livery stable, left the horses there with the usual awful warning, and then strolled through the main gate of Amaranthine.

Maude said, "It sounds to me like the hunters might have found a darkspawn breeding ground. A big opening in the earth? Crowds of darkspawn? I think whatever Kristoff was searching for, it was actually right there in the Knotwood Hills."

"Yes…" Morrigan considered. "The area seemed…odd. Ominous, perhaps, when we traveled though it in the autumn."

Maude frowned, looking unusually serious. No, it was more than that: she looked as if she expected an attack at any moment. Loghain thought he understood. She felt she was in enemy territory. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She relaxed minutely, but did not smile.

The merchants were out, and trade was flowing, after a fashion. One could not say that all was well, but it was better than he might have expected. Amaranthine was a fine city, about one-quarter the size of Denerim. The docks were extensive and the Chantry the grandest and most elaborate in Ferelden after the Cathedral in Denerim. The residence of the Bann, a tall house of stone, was only a part of the massive Keep in the city's center. Loghain saw no reason to call on Bann Esmerelle, whom he had always found irritating.

"The Crown and Lion," he suggested. "It's the best inn in town. We can start looking for Kristoff there."

"Fine idea," Oghren grunted. "We can check out the ale, too."

"And have _lunch,"_ Anders voted.

Kristoff had indeed been there. Maude persuaded the innkeeper to hand over the key to the Warden's room, and then they trooped upstairs to search for clues.

Oghren lagged behind. "I could just stay here and order for us—"

Maude gave his metal-clad arm a yank. "Come _on,_ Oghren!"

Kristoff had quite a nice room at the inn, except for the noisy pair of lovers next door. Loghain went immediately to the large map of Amaranthine pinned to the wall and studied it carefully. On it, Kristoff had marked the sites of known darkspawn attacks and sightings.

Meanwhile, Maude had unlocked his personal chest, and was pawing through his belongings. "Some letters from his wife...a locket—she's quite pretty!"

"What is this Blackmarsh place?" wondered Morrigan, coming to stand by Loghain, holding out a worn-looking notebook. "It appears to be the focus of Kristoff's search. In his notes he mentions meeting a man who saw darkspawn in the Blackmarsh, as well as seeing a monster he describes as a 'worm with legs.'"

Loghain took the notebook from her and read through the passage, scowling.

Maude joined them, her face lightening somewhat. "Lovely! A worm with legs. The Blackmarsh is just the place for it. Rendon Howe used to tell us children the most gloriously gruesome stories about the Blackmarsh!"

Astonished, Anders asked, "This archnemesis of yours told you stories?"

"Old friend of the family prior to becoming an archnemesis, remember? Yes, sometimes he told us stories. He was a brilliant storyteller, in fact. I'll never forget what he told us about the Blackmarsh." Her voice dropped thrillingly to a low and mysterious register. _"__'They say the Blackmarsh was once inhabited, until one day everyone… disappeared.'"_

Loghain, distracted from the map, stared at her. She had actually managed to _sound_ like Rendon Howe. That was genuinely disturbing. Apparently Oghren had met the man once, and found it disturbing, too. Then the dwarf guffawed.

"Neat trick! You should have talked back to him like that, that time in the dungeons!"

That made Maude laugh, too. She told them more about the Blackmarsh. The most lurid stories were fairly recent, and dated to the Orlesian Occupation, when an Orlesian baroness had been given the place as a fiefdom. She, too, had disappeared. An Orlesian noblewoman? Whatever had happened in the Blackmarsh, Loghain was absolutely certain that this Orlesian woman was at the bottom of it.

Maude cocked her head thoughtfully. "As I see it, we have two choices: look for Kristoff and his clues in the Blackmarsh, or track down the darkspawn that we know are in the Knotwood Hills."

Loghain disagreed. "There is no choice at all. Kristoff must look after himself. Our first priority is the darkspawn. It sounds like a large lair. We should go there as soon as possible."

That settled, they enjoyed their meal at the Crown and Lion, though there were more spectators than Loghain liked. As they were leaving the inn, a young man approached them.

"Excuse me, my lord," he said to Loghain, "but I heard you're here from the Vigil. Is it true? Was there an attack?"

"There was," Loghain said brusquely.

"Delilah…I mean…the Arlessa? Is she all right?"

Maude spoke up. "You're Albert, aren't you?"

"I am, Warden. Is she all right?"

"Oh, perfectly fine. She was rescued and her brother is looking after her now. The attack was beaten back, though there were losses." Maude was civil, but not exactly warm.

The man drew away, discouraged. "That's all I wanted to know. Thank you…"

After he disappeared down an alley, Morrigan asked, "Who was _that?"_

"_That_ was the Amaranthine shopkeeper who attempted to entice Lady Delilah Howe into a misalliance with him," Maude declared, a touch of frost in her voice.

"Maude," Anders reproved her, "you are such a snob. Perhaps he might have made her happy!"

Maude shrugged, and granted him a half-smile. "Perhaps he might have... but he wasn't good enough for her, all the same!"

* * *

_Note: Sorry for the delay. Not my fault, honest! The chapter was finished on Sunday, but ffdotnet was not taking it. I finally found a work-around in order to post.  
_

_Thanks to my reviewers: Josie Lange, Phygmalion, Eva Galana, Gene Dark, Persephone Chiara, Shakespira, Amhran Comhrac, mutive, Zute, icey cold, Judy, Lehni, Kira Kyuuketsuki, gaj620, nekoninja123, Angurvddel, White Ivy, JackOfBladesX, Jenna53, Enaid Aderyn, mille libri, Fastforwarmotion, RakeeshJ4, Kempe, Piceron, hyperfuzzy, Lyris Musetta, So you want to be an author, wayfaringpanda, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach and Lord of Murder._


	23. Tomb Raiders of Amaranthine

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 23: Tomb Raiders of Amaranthine  
**

Their errands were completed. They had their information, and there was no reason they could not manage to return to the Vigil by nightfall. Anders had obligingly healed Oghren's aching legs, and the dwarf was ready to face more hours on horseback.

Anders, to be sure, was restless. He wanted to make a circuit of the Market District, clearly looking for someone. When questioned by Maude, he replied, somewhat evasively, "I know people in Amaranthine."

"Which people?" she persisted.

He dropped his voice. "Apostates, mostly."

"Oh, good. Maybe they'd like to be conscripted."

Morrigan snickered. Loghain said, "We can walk down the other side of Keep Street. Once. I'd prefer not to be harassed by Templars any more than absolutely necessary."

"We really need to have something special made for you, Anders," Maude considered. "If you won't wear armor, how about specially designed battle robes with lots of griffons on them? If the Templars know you're a Grey Warden, they won't make such awful pests of themselves."

Loghain said dryly, "They could be in any garish color you prefer."

"Well, _excuse me_," Anders sulked, "if _I'm_ still young enough to have some interest in fashion."

"You could have a really neat winged helmet like Morrigan's, anyway," Maude considered, "with all those little dangly bits mages like. And that reminds me, Oghren, we need to find you a proper Grey Warden helmet. Maybe one of the Orlesians' helmets would fit you."

"Naw," Oghren shook his head. "Already tried them all. Damned bunch of pinheads."

Loghain smiled, at peace with the world. He had forgotten the dwarf's amusing way with words. It made up for the smell, most of the time.

Maude and Morrigan picked up a few things from the merchants, and Loghain was stopped by a representative of the Merchants' Guild, concerned about problems on the Pilgrims' Path. Smaller trade caravans were simply not getting through the stretch that ran through the Wending Wood. In the past, this road had been one of the safest and best patrolled in Ferelden, but recently even the militia had had trouble. Loghain made the man no promises, but said he would raise the issue with the Arlessa. Anders kept looking about him, as if expecting to see someone.

The ride back to the Vigil was uneventful, other than meeting a band of incredibly stupid bandits. That was a brief adventure, however, and within a few hours they were back at the ancient fortress of the Howes. They rode into the inner courtyard, and Topaz came barreling toward them barking, happy to see her new friend Ranger. Loghain had saved a bit of smoked sausage from their meal in Amaranthine, and fed it to the dog. She was still sad, but snapped up the snack readily enough, and even granted him the liberty of scratching her ears.

"Good girl, Topaz," he murmured. She looked up at him with huge, intelligent brown eyes. Mabaris really were a gift of the Maker. She brushed against his legs, keeping pace with them, as they returned to the keep.

The Vigil was already looking much improved. Both brother and sister had been hard at work, After a good meal, the dwarf engineer Voldrik informed them that the way was almost clear through the dungeons to the lower tunnels. As it was a priority, Loghain decided they would tackle that problem as soon as they could…tomorrow. Even Wardens needed sleep food and sleep...

* * *

Loghain awakened to a sweet, wet kiss. Blinking, he found himself staring into a pair of brown eyes. They were not Maude's. Topaz was standing by the bed, resting her muzzle on the blanket.

"Good girl," he croaked sleepily, automatically fumbling out a hand to scratch the perked-up ears. Ranger got up and stood beside his friend, panting expectantly.

"What do they want?" Maude asked, still curled up against him.

"What do dogs always want?"

She slid off the bed on her side, and opened the door. "Go," she told them, waving them out. "Go raid the kitchens and make someone let you outside. We'll be down for breakfast later, and we'll throw sticks and kill darkspawn."

Ranger barked happily, and the dogs were off on the hunt.

Maude crawled back into bed, and pounced on Loghain. He admitted later that he had not put up much of a fight.

* * *

Once again, Nathaniel Howe volunteered to go with them. He had been useful before, and they were Howe dungeons, after all, so he tagged along, bow in hand, scowl on face.

The lower dungeons were cave-like, and bore many traces of the ancient days of the Vigil's Keep. Almost immediately they found the remains of what had once been a shrine to Korth the Mountain Father. Maude was intrigued, and poked about, finding a little gilded image of the god: stylized, broad-shouldered, square-headed. She and Nathaniel went into a long, boring discussion of ancient mythology. Boring for Loghain and Oghren, though everyone else was fascinated—even Morrigan, who thought the ancient gods far more amusing than the Maker and his dreary bride Andraste.

It was not long before they made contact with darkspawn. Quite a few of them, in fact, lurking in nooks and crannies along the old tunnels. As they moved down, the tunnels were getting larger and easier to traverse. It was not long before the walls grew straight and the floor smooth, and the carving bore indisputable signs of dwarven work. These were not the Deep Roads themselves, but they were definitely offshoots of them.

They met more resistance the farther they traveled, and finally…

* * *

"Well!" Maude went on, pink with excitement, eager to tell the Arlessa all about it. "Then we went down another fifty feet—and I do mean down—and there we were in the Deep Roads!"

"So the Deep Roads really do connect with our dungeons?" Delilah asked, very alarmed at the very idea.

"Oh, they do! But not to worry—Master Voldrik said that this huge mechanism we found there was a nearly complete dwarven barrier door. That's the sort of thing the dwarves have to protect Orzammar. He and has men are working on it. He said it wouldn't take long, and then you'll have decades—probably even a hundred years—of security. So we did find the single point of contact, and it will be cut off when Voldrik is done. He also suggested that the Vigil needs some serious work done on its defenses."

Nathaniel looked at Delilah, and she looked back at him. Both of them appeared very harassed. Delilah said, "He's been after me about that too, but I have twenty places to put every penny. I just can't justify the eighty sovereigns he wants. Especially when traders can't get through the Wending Wood and pay the usual tolls and taxes. If it weren't for that…" she sighed. "But you are finished in the dungeons?"

"Not quite," Loghain said dryly, raising his brows at Nathaniel.

"We think that something we roused in the lowest dungeons escaped—a sort of demon," Nathaniel confessed to Delilah. "The mages say it's lurking in the crypt. They warded it in with magic, so it can't escape, but they say it's dangerous. We'll have to go there and clear it out."

"Oh, Nathaniel!"

"It's going to be so interesting," said Maude. "We might find all sorts of things in the crypts."

"All sorts of unpleasant things," Loghain agreed. He wished that young Howe were not so insistent about going with them. Where there were tombs, there would also be treasure, and Maude would be at her most light-fingered.

Morrigan muttered, "'Tis not a _demon._ 'Tis a _wraith,_ and its name is The Dark Thaurge._"_ Anders patted her shoulder comfortingly. Mundanes were very sloppy about identifying magical entities.

They took the dogs, too. Loghain was a little concerned about exposing Topaz to the terrors of demon-fighting, but she was a mabari of Ferelden, and she had her pride. She did not wish to stay behind and protect Arlessa Delilah, which she knew was another way of saying she was not a true warrior. She whined and complained, and Ranger barked and growled, until Loghain shouted, "Enough!" and then felt like a dog himself when they cowered away.

And so, it was quite a war party that set off to cleanse the crypt of Vigil's Keep. Once unlocked, they discovered a number of interesting things. There was an upper crypt, and down another flight of stairs was an even more ancient, lower one.

"I can see why your mother didn't want us playing in here," Maude admitted to Howe. He nodded absently, looking about him with wide eyes at the ancient history of his family, spread out before him. The old barbarian chieftains had been immured in stone sarcophagi. Only after the conversation to Andrasteanism had cremation become the civilized manner of disposing of the dead. It was disgusting, Loghain thought, the whole idea of a human body being allowed to rot in a box...

Rendon Howe had stored some items in the upper crypt. Maude, at least, was sure that it was he who had hidden away the fine old bow that had belonged to Nathaniel's grandfather. She found it, noticed the family arms carved into it, and gave it to Nathaniel, who was quite moved. She meanwhile palmed a number of things, while pretending to read inscriptions.

After some time, stroking the smooth surface of the bow, and thinking to himself, young Howe mentioned the former owner of it.

"My grandfather was a Grey Warden. He felt he had a vocation for it, and he left his family behind to go abroad. Of course in those days there were no Grey Wardens in Ferelden. No one heard of him again."

Loghain grimaced. _Probably dead in the Joining,_ he imagined. Delilah had told him the story some months ago, but it still troubled him. He could sympathize with Rendon Howe's resentment of the Wardens.

Maude was more sympathetic. "I know. Mother told me when I was quite young. Fergus and I were playing Wardens-and-Darkspawn one day, and your family was coming to visit. Mother explained why such a game might be tactless, and that we must never bring up the subject. She was always good about explaining the reasons for things."

Howe nodded wordlessly, probably not daring to say anything about the Couslands. Just as well. Loghain really and truly could not wait to get out of this castle. The longer they lingered, the more likely a horrendous explosion would occur. He whispered to Maude, "And who were you? The Wardens or the Darkspawn?"

She grinned, and made a horrible growling noise, rolling her eyes. The dogs stared at her. She laughed.

Morrigan was bored with the family reminiscences, having no family of her own to speak of. "I believe The Dark Thaurge is waiting."

They emerged victorious, of course, not too much later. Topaz was ready to be praised and petted, and Ranger was ready for more concrete rewards in the form of tasty treats. Maude was going on to Nathaniel about the fascinating Avvar lords, whose remains had been possessed by the wraith.

"And they wore helmets just like the ones Grey Wardens wear!" she exulted. "That was so neat!"

"It _is _a very archaic design," Howe agreed. "They might have been ancestors of mine!"

"I'm sure they were," Maude agreed, "but don't be upset with them. That wasn't really _them _attacking you, but the nasty wraith animating bits of their bodies. It happens." She was very pleased herself with some of the grave goods she had uncovered, and took a surreptitious peek at them. Morrigan and Anders, admirably composed, discussed the history of the Avvar barbarians with their descendant.

They had expected Delilah to be awaiting them, along with her seneschal and some guards. Instead, the entrance through the dungeons was deserted. Mystified, they returned to the keep, and found that Delilah had been called away to receive a deputation of her vassals. Very discontented vassals, at that.

None of them—not even Nathaniel—bothered to change in order to meet the visitors. They all stalked together into the Throne Room. Heads turned at their appearance, and there were a few girly screams, not all of which issued from girlish throats.

Nathaniel immediately took his place, standing by his sister where she sat on the High Seat. The Wardens stayed at the back of the hall, glowering, sneering, smirking, beaming, or scratching an ear, according to their various natures.

"And we should finger our weapons in a threatening manner," Maude whispered. "That's the part I really like!"

"Who's the dressed-up cow with the stick up her arse?" Oghren wondered.

"Lower your voice," Loghain ground out. There was no doubt who the dwarf meant, since he was pointing at a woman who was far more opulently gowned and jeweled than the Arlessa herself. "That's Bann Esmerelle Hargrove, the ruler of the city of Amaranthine, and the Arlessa's most powerful—and dangerous—vassal."

"She was one of Rendon Howe's tarts," Maude whispered. "That's how she got to be a bann in the first place." She made a face at Loghain. "I know! I know! There was more to it than that."

Oghren grunted, unimpressed. "She _looks_ like someone who'd take on old Rendon."

"'Tis remarkable how quickly they arrived after the danger had passed," Morrigan remarked.

"Probably here to leech a supper off the Arlessa," Anders shrugged. "Mind you, I'm awfully glad that pastry cook of hers survived."

Of course, it was impossible that nothing would be said of Loghain's arrival. There had been rumors of his deeds, and now he was here, and all these people wanted to greet him. Amaranthine was the one corner of Ferelden in which he had never ceased to be personally popular. Delilah presented him to the lords and ladies assembled as the Dragonslayer of Ferelden and Warden-Commander of the Grey. There was quite a bit of cheering. He could hardly blame these people for preferring him to the Orlesians who had so spectacularly failed to defend this arling.

There was talk and mingling, and a number of the vassals approached Loghain, wanting to get him aside and go over Delilah's head, so to speak, in obtaining protection for their lands. Maude busily worked the floor, chatting up old friends of her father's. Loghain overheard her assure Lord Eddlebreck that they were going west tomorrow to have a look at the darkspawn depredations on the farm lands of the Feravel Plains. It was not a complete lie: they would be skirting the Feravel Plains on their way to the Knotwood Hills.

There was additional concern about trouble on the Pilgrims' Path. Some militiamen had found a caravan burned and the traders slaughtered only the day before. The nobles thought it was the Dalish, causing trouble again.

"Well, I can deal with the Dalish," Maude declared. "I've dealt with them in the past and got them to join in fighting the darkspawn. I wonder why they haven't gone south to their new territory."

A well-dressed lady complained bitterly. "No one can understand those creatures. Domesticated knife-ears are bad enough, but the wild ones are worse!"

Maude granted her a brilliant, false smile, the meaning of which Loghain understood completely. Maude _liked _elves, for some reason, and always got on well with them. If she had had her way, that Zevran of hers would be with them at this very moment, and a fellow Grey Warden. It was an irritating thought, but even more irritating was the recollection of days long past when he had got on well with elv_e_s himself, and had organized the Night Elves to fight the Orlesians. What had happened to his old elven comrades? Perhaps it was better not to know…

There was Bann Esmerelle, slinking his way. He should try to be polite to the woman, at least. She had been a faithful vassal to Howe, certainly, and by extension to himself. Maude might dislike her, but Loghain knew that she was the woman that Rendon Howe had wanted to marry, long ago when the two of them were young. At the time, she was the daughter of a younger son of a dispossessed bann, and her family had lived meagerly on the little plot of land grudged them by the Orlesians. Rendon had had no expectations of the arling at the time, and the two of them had simply been too poor to make a go of it—especially since their families had very different plans for them. The Howes had married Rendon to a Marcher noblewoman with a huge dowry, but the marriage had never warmed up. At least he had got three children out of it.

Esmerelle had had an even harder life. During the Rebellion, her family had virtually sold her to an Orlesian chevalier to curry favor. There had been a single child of the marriage, who had died young. The Orlesian had abused Esmerelle, and finally died under mysterious circumstances. After he was out of the way, she rallied the people on her husband's stolen holdings to Maric's side, and had herself fought bravely. Rendon trusted her like no one else, and had obtained Bryce Cousland's support in appointing her Bann of Amaranthine City. She had never remarried. Her relationship with Rendon was an open secret: she was not his only mistress, but she was the one he respected. Loghain supposed she must miss the man, even if no one else did.

She bowed. "Warden-Commander Loghain."

"Bann Esmerelle."

"May I say how relieved I am to see _you_ here. The arling is in utter chaos. Dear Delilah and her brother are doing their best, of course, but being young and inexperienced in such trying times…you understand me. I heard you were in the city yesterday. I was surprised that you did not come to call."

He grimaced. "I apologize, but we were pressed for time. We could not even stay the night, since we had to return to the Vigil to finish securing it."

"You are indispensable, once again."

Did she imagine he was going to try to stage a coup? Was she tacitly offering her help? "I am simply doing my duty."

"As you always do," she said smoothly. "Word has come that the Queen is expecting a child. That is very happy news. To have the succession secured…and so swiftly. You yourself must be very pleased."

"I am, of course."

"And I heard that a marriage was arranged between you…" her narrowed eyes drifted across the room to Maude "…and young Maude Cousland. My felicitations, of course. A true patriot does everything possible to reconcile opposing factions. Sacrifices must sometimes be made, and they are deeply appreciated by those who can comprehend them."

"My wife and I are united in our determination to root out the darkspawn plague from this country."

"I am glad to hear it, for a plague it certainly is."

The woman obviously was of the opinion that he had been hard done by, and he wondered if she thought he would unburden his complaints to her. If she did, she would be disappointed. Maude should join him, and show the bann that they were a couple, and not just a political alliance.

But Maude had stopped quite still, standing off to his left, and her eyes were on Bann Esmerelle. Something terrible passed over her face, and then the cloud lifted. She smiled radiantly, coming to Loghain's side.

"Bann Esmerelle! How delightful to see you! You look extremely well."

The older woman was good: oh, she was good. She glanced quickly at Maude in her filthy armor, as if looking for something she could compliment in return, and then pointedly did not do so. Instead, she smirked.

"Warden. I was offering my respects to your Commander for his services and sacrifices."

Maude's gaze turned glassy. "I appreciate them, too. Especially all his wonderful services to _me_. My favorite is when he-"

With a muttered excuse, Loghain walked her hastily away.

* * *

A number of the guests had to be put up for the night, and their arrival caused some unwelcome confusion and considerable noise. Maude was in an odd mood, obviously disturbed by the presence of so many people who had ties to Rendon Howe. She did not want to come to bed, but stayed up reading by the light of a single candle, the window open. As Loghain was drifting off to sleep, she slipped from the room, muttering something about birch beer…

He slept heavily and well, and awakened at daybreak. Maude was sitting in front her mirror, clothed only in rosy dawn and playing with a necklace: a huge teardrop pearl, attached to a diamond and ruby pendant, hanging from an intricate gold chain.

"That's nice," he croaked, waking up. The dogs left admiring Maude, and came over to say good morning. He paid them a bit of attention, and sat up slowly. They needed to get moving soon, if they were traveling to the Knotwood Hills today.

"It is, isn't it?" she agreed. The pearl was remarkable. Loghain was sure he had seen that necklace before…

…around Bann Esmerelle's neck last night…

"Maker's Breath!" he shouted. "You didn't kill her, did you?" The dogs, startled, jumped and yipped.

Maude rolled her eyes. "No, I didn't _kill_ her, the tawdry bitch, though that would have been very enjoyable. I simply located her room, and then went out through our window, found _her_ window, found the necklace, and brought it back." She turned and narrowed her eyes at Loghain, offering him a look at the jewel. "If you will examine it closely, you will see that it is _mine."_

Loghain took it, and then looked at the back of the pendant, where she was tapping her finger. The crest of Highever, two branches that might be a laurel wreath or a pair of wings, was engraved deeply into the gold, along with the initials _E.C._

She raised her brows at him. He sighed. "Your mother's."

"Mother wore it at dinner the night she was murdered. Bann Esmerelle thought it so amusing to parade her trophy in front of me. She can whistle for it if she wants it back. In fact, if she mentions it, I _shall_ kill her. Gruesomely. Rendon gave her this, obviously. I wonder if he bothered to wipe off the blood before Esmerelle offered him her heart-felt gratitude."

Loghain got up and began dressing. "We're leaving early," he declared. "We're leaving before anyone else is _awake. _If you must wear that, wear it under your clothes until we're well away from the Keep._"_

"If you like." Her mood was much improved. She tugged on a shirt, dropped the pearl pendant under it, and cheerfully began to discuss the upcoming journey to the Knotwood Hills.

"I don't know if we want to take Topaz today," she said. "If we expose her to the darkspawn, she may die, or she may become a mabari Warden, and not be able to have puppies!"

Loghain was very happy about the bond he was establishing with Topaz, and did not like the idea of interrupting that, but there was also something in what Maude said.

"Eventually we'll have to take her, but how about this? We'll see if we can get at least one litter from her first. We'll hope she goes into heat soon."

"I'm sure Ranger would be _delighted_ if she went into heat soon."

"Maybe we can take her with us when we look into what's going on in the Wending Wood."

"All right. There are some darkspawn there, unquestionably. But if the attacks are Dalish in origin, it might be interesting for her."

They took their twelve men-at-arms with them, to guard the horses they must leave behind, and to take word to the Vigil if disaster struck. All the men had bows or pikes with them, and were told to avoid physical contact with the darkspawn as far as possible. They were sound men, and Loghain felt he could rely on them..

Topaz nearly cried real tears at being left behind, but Loghain comforted her, and assured her that they would be together just as soon as her wounds were completely healed. She was too important to made sick by darkspawn dirt getting into them. She watched him, her collar held firmly by the seneschal, the entire time he rode away from the Vigil, and he steeled himself not to look behind, or she would undoubtedly break free and chase after him. Ranger did not approve of leaving her behind, and trotted ahead, ignoring all humans for the moment.

Nathaniel Howe could not be kept on a leash, however. He was up as early as they, and rode with them, leading a small company of his own.

"My personal guard," he told Loghain, "and all picked for their skill with a bow. I've also had some of those poisons made up that the other Wardens said were effective against darkspawn. I learned to make some of the stronger Crow poisons when I was in the Free Marches. Kristoff said they worked well."

"True enough," Loghain agreed, as they cantered west on the North Road. "Target the magic users first, and then the alphas. You can tell them by the helmets. And if you see any more of those damned talking things, kill them as fast as you can, but try to take note of what they say."

"Talking darkspawn," Nathaniel mused. "No one's ever heard of the creatures. After all these ages, where have they come from?"

It was a Warden secret, he supposed, so Loghain did not tell the young man what he knew of them. And what did he know of them, other than the bare fact of their existence? Some freak of nature among the darkspawn, calling itself the Architect, might be their progenitor, but nothing was certain. Other than the fact that they all needed to die.

Maude grimaced, looking around her as if smelling the air. Ranger growled. In another moment, the other Wardens sensed the creatures up ahead.

It was a freehold, just off the road, and it was overrun with the creatures. The family lay dead, while the monsters capered about, cutting them up. Loghain organized his forces quickly, and took up a bow himself, While the mages caught the creatures in broad storm spell, the archers managed two volleys before the creatures began running at them.

Maude smirked at Loghain. "Do you want to live forever?" She kicked her horse hard, and charged the alpha, her sword out and ready.

They fought, he supposed, as they had always fought. The archers and pikemen were a tremendous help. One of the men was badly injured by a hex, and another dangerously wounded by a lucky shot from a genlock's bow. Considering the size of the party, they had done very well.

To the soldiers' disappointment, the farm was found too Tainted for safe camping. Instead, they relied on Nathaniel's knowledge of the area, and on Loghain's map of Amaranthine to find a suitable spot. Tomorrow they would be in the Knotwood Hills, and there would be many more darkspawn.

* * *

Those idiot hunters had not adequately described the hole in the earth of the Knotwood Hills. It was enormous: as if one of the hills had turned inside out and then collapsed into a bottomless pit. A rickety bridge stretched across the chasm, and then even more rickety steps led down and turned, and down again.

"Obviously, the horses can go no farther," said Morrigan.

Oghren grunted and echoed her,_ "Obviously._ My guess is that a section of the Deep Roads fell in. Must have been built too close to the surface."

"Do you remember...?" Morrigan began, her fair brow creased with memory. "Avernus told us of an entrance to the Deep Roads in the Knotwood Hills, but said it had been sealed before his time. This must be it."

Loghain made his dispositions quickly. "Lord Nathaniel, stay here with your men and guard this opening. Post your archers so you can shoot any darkspawn attempting to break out. We shall leave our horses with you. Keep a good watch, since it may be that there are other places where the pit can be access. I shall take my own men down into the pit with me, but leave them at the opening."

By the time they crossed the bridge, they could see the crude totems of the darkspawn, and sense the faint scratchiness that told that they were…not very near, but within a fairly short distance.

Anders muttered, "We're going down into that. Right. _'Oooh, it's an unstable, crumbling chasm. Let's go play in it!'_"

The guardsmen were tense and alert, trying not to strain the wretched wooden framework of the staircases with excess weight. When they reached the bottom, a cave loomed before them. A pack of deepstalkers darted out of it, squealing furiously, and were promptly shot down. Maude moved forward with Ranger, and peered in.

"Oh, well, that's interesting, but not terribly surprising. Dwarven stonework ahead. It's an entrance to the Deep Roads, all right."

Her eyes were caught by something dangling from a stone. "A rabbit's foot on a leather thong. Perhaps an amulet belonging to one of our hunters?"

Loghain told the guardsmen. "Stay here, and guard the opening. You—Pancris, is it? Go up and tell Lord Nathaniel that we found an entrance to the Deep Roads. He should make camp. We shall be there for some time."

They moved in, while the guardsmen looked upon them as if they never expected to see them again. Ranger sniffed the air in the passage, and lowered his muzzle.

Light from the out-of-doors flooded the remains of the wide and handsomely carved passage. With every step the sensation of darkspawn grew stronger. After about a quarter mile, they heard the faintest sounds of steel clashing on steel. Ranger cocked his ears and lifted his head.

"A fight!" Maude cried. "Come on!"

Past the ancient pillars, they found themselves in a great and spacious chamber. At the far end a half-dozen hurlocks were crowded around a single small victim, obviously a dwarf. The biggest of them was dragging the prisoner by a leg, when the captive kicked free and brandished an axe, defying them all.

Maude shrieked a wordless battlecry, already charging the darkspawn. Oghren bellowed a bass counterpoint, and Loghain targeted the alpha. The mages' spell were already bringing down some of the darkspawn by the time the others could cross swords.

The dwarf had put up a gallant fight, and when the last darkspawn was dead on the stones, Loghain turned to have a look at him.

Her. The tattooed face under the horned helmet was delicate. Some might even call the dwarf girl…cute. Maude was beaming at her, while Anders bent over her in concern.

"Wow," said the dwarf girl. "For a minute I thought I really was going to join the Legion of the Dead."

"Are you all right?" Anders asked.

Further examination revealed some cracked ribs, which were soon put right. Introductions followed: brief and to the point. Oghren leered admiringly, and the girl rolled her eyes.

Her name was Sigrun, and she was indeed from the Legion of the Dead. The last survivor, in fact, of her unit, which had been exploring the Deep Roads in the direction of the ancient dwarven thaig of Kal'Hirol. The Legion had also heard rumors of a darkspawn breeding ground here. They had stormed the entrance to the thaig, and had found all the brilliantly engineered defenses directed against them. They were surprised, and then slaughtered. Sigrun had seen some of the other women dragged off.

"Nice talking to you," she concluded, "but I really have to get back. Darkspawn, you know…"

Maude nodded, obviously well-disposed toward Sigrun. Not surprising. The dwarf girl had an endearingly daffy air that reminded Loghain irresistibly of the woman in his life.

"We're Grey Wardens. Why don't you join us?"

A pause. "Join? Do you mean, "fight with us for safety in numbers, " or do you mean "join the _Grey Wardens._"? Can I even _do_ that? I already belong to the Legion of the Dead."

"Both," Maude said. "For now the safety-in-numbers thing, because I think you'll find it much nicer than being killed instantly, but why not join the Grey Wardens? You can be the first to be both Legion of the Dead and a Warden. That's pretty neat."

Sigrun admitted that it was all perfectly true, and fell in with their party. Ranger wanted to sniff at her first, and the dwarf girl was a bit alarmed at the size of the dog. Ranger, satisfied, gave a _"whuff"_ to explain that he now knew this person for pack, and would not rip out her throat by accident.

Strange tendrils of red spongy matter stretched across the end of the passage, where steep stones stairs led down. Maude kicked at some of it with the toe of her boot, and she and Morrigan looked at each other with expressions of disgust. Oghren spat.

"Crap." Maude nodded to Sigrun. "Your rumors were true. There's a Broodmother around here somewhere. Look at this."

Loghain felt his hair lift just the slightest at the word. He could remember a nightmare creature from that vivid Fade vision. He could almost recall an unbearable stench, an unbelievable sight…

"What is this?"

"It's her. It's part of the Broodmother. She may be miles away, but she puts out this matter, and when it's concentrated enough it forms a sac for her cute little baby darkspawn. Morrigan knows to burn the sacs when she sees them."

They went on, and found another legionnaire, this one dying. They went on and found darkspawn, and shortly thereafter an infestation of what could only be described as—

"-Worms with legs," Maude declared, picking her way around a dead one. "This can't be good. I mean…they _are_ darkspawn. I can feel that they're darkspawn."

"They smell like darkspawn," agreed Anders, "only worse."

"Eggs," Morrigan observed, studying the strange objects they had issued from. "Eggs, of a sort. 'Tis most disturbing." She took care to burn them, and burn anything resembling them, and everything in the general vicinity.

There followed hours of touring a Tainted, haunted, and darkspawn-ridden thaig. Phantoms of doomed dwarves and mindless darkspawn fought eternal battles in the narrow passages. Children cried for their mothers, and bewildered dwarves faced death in every possible way. The desolate exchanges were repeated, over and over again. It became gradually clear what had happened here.

Sigrun whispered, "So they just left the casteless behind. Everyone else fled, and no one even bothered to tell the dusters that the darkspawn were coming."

That was not entirely true. One of the phantoms was a warrior named Dailan, who had attempted to rally the casteless and defend the fleeing citizens of Kal'Hirol. It was a brave gesture: brave, honorable, and doomed. Even Loghain flinched at the memory of the dwarf being crushed to death by an armored ogre.

Kal'Hirol had been been quite a large thaig, and had held special meaning for the Smith Caste. Many of the dwarves' greatest inventions had come out of Kal'Hirol. Very importantly, lyrium had been mined there.

Anders was quite excited about the tubs of raw lyrium they found. He threw all out the loot he had collected up to then, and hastily filled a bag with lyrium. If they succeeded in cleaning out this thaig, even temporarily, they should come back for the rest. This one tub of lyrium would supply the Grey Wardens for decades.

There were roars ahead, and the sounds of battle. From the top of a tall staircase, they witnessed a fight between the darkspawn. One of the factions' leaders shouted out commands in words. And he was not the only talking darkspawn they met.

"The Uglies and the Ugliers," Maude dismissed the warring bands. "What do you suppose they're fighting about? Religion? Or politics?"

"Maybe this is like a darkspawn sporting event," Anders suggested, smirking. "Some of them wear purple bits, and some red. The winners get to carry the losers' heads on the end of pikes."

"Like a Proving?" Oghren said, taking it almost seriously. "They do have team events. Maybe they're fighting because that's what they do. Maybe they don't need a reason to kill each other."

They followed the pull of the darkspawn down a passage that resembled nothing so much as a meat tunnel. The red matter was all about them: spongy, moist, and stinking. More of the crawling things emerged from the big, misshapen eggs.

They went up blind tunnels; they found a large and ancient tomb, filled with riches; they found—to Maude's ecstatic delight—the thaig's treasury, which consisted of five very large painted receptacles, bursting with gold, jewels, fine armor, and precious rarities.

"I didn't even have to pick the locks," Maude wondered aloud. "Those old dwarven lords were_ confident!"_

Loghain was astounded at the wealth before them. There was far too much treasure to gather today. They could manage only a fraction of it, and Loghain insisted that Maude take nothing but a little gold and a few of the best jewels. She did not like leaving such wonders for the darkspawn, but understood.

"We'll come back later," she decided. "With a wagon. A _big_ wagon. Come on, Sigrun! Don't be shy! You'll want lots of coin on the surface."

Everyone exclaimed over the things they found. Oghren admired a particularly glorious suit of armor, but the straps were decayed, and the suit itself would take a bit of work to fit him. It, too, was left "for later."

Loghain carefully counted out enough gold to equal eighty Ferelden sovereigns, and filled his money belt and pouch with it. If they were going to be staying at Vigil's Keep for any length of time, it would be prudent for it to be as well-fortified as possible. Maude was surprised to see him so unusually intent on the loot, and then caught on to what he was doing.

"Oh—that's for Delilah. That's awfully nice of you." Her tone suggested that she was not entirely pleased. "Of course she has an entire arling and all its taxes, and we only have what we can win by force of arms, but if you feel we owe them some sort of _rent…"_

"Eighty sovereigns is only a fraction of what is here, and I wouldn't want to be in the Vigil as it is during a massed attack by the darkspawn."

"I suppose not."

In addition to the wonderful loot, the treasury was the cleanest place they had found in the thaig. None of the pulpy tendrils had explored it. It was simply stone, and rather dusty from neglect. It was the best place possible to rest and have a quick, welcome meal.

Afterward, they tried to find their way along the moist, unwholesome tunnels. Somewhere up ahead, Loghain could sense something powerful: something Tainted and terrible. Down again, and through another sickeningly narrow passage, they came upon a long, straight hall, with light at the end of it, and loud voices and the sound of rushing water echoing in a hissing confusion.

A hoarse, unnatural voice roared out, "The Architect sends many, but does not come himself! He is a coward!"

Cautiously, the Wardens moved to the mouth of the tunnel. Before them was a huge chamber, water flowing down in channels to drains on the floor. A huge skylight set into the ceiling gave welcome illumination. Two of the talking darkspawn had confronted each other. Nearby was an enormous golem, made not of stone but of red, glowing metal. The golem knocked down one of the disputants, and lifted him up in a mighty, remorseless grasp.

The other darkspawn—a mage, from his staff- mocked his captive—his voice a loud and raucous croak.

"We will send a message to the Architect! We will let him know that the Mother will tear him apart!"

The golem responded to the implicit command. It took the wriggling darkspawn's upper half in one hand and his lower in the other, and_ tore him in two._

It was pretty impressive. Loghain thought about a stealth attack from the corridor, but it was too late: the darkspawn had seen them.

"Who are you? You are no darkspawn! We will destroy all the enemies of the Mother!" Before he could signal an attack, Maude broke in, her lovely voice awed and enchanting.

"You have a _mother?_ How _wonderful!_ She must be beautiful and powerful! How wonderful to have a mother! Tell us about her!"

The darkspawn paused, hideous maw open, and then blinked, rather nonplussed.

Maude stepped forward, her eyes on the creature. Loghain longed to grab her back, but instead regarded the golem intently. Oghren and Sigrun shifted their axes in their hands. Morrigan nodded imperceptibly, ready to freeze the monstrous golem at its first hostile movement. Anders was watching the darkspawn mage.

Maude said, her voice thrumming with persuasion, "The Architect is our enemy. _Do_ tell us of the Mother. Perhaps we, too, can serve her." Seeing the baffled creature's hesitation, she purred. "Shouldn't _everyone_ serve the Mother?"

"It is true," croaked the revolting creature, staring at Maude. "You are a female. You can serve the Mother. Our army grows greater all the time! The Mother will destroy the Architect!"

"I'm _so_ glad! We all _hate_ the Architect, don't we?"

Slow nods from the party, their eyes fixed on the bizarre scene before them.

"So…" Maude crooned, putting every ounce of power she had into her voice. "Tell me about the Mother! I long to hear about her!"

"The Mother…" the thing hesitated. "The Mother is the Mother. She is wise and beautiful. All of us come from the Mother. She guides us and gives us life. We protect and obey her."

"Just as you should!" Maude approved. Loghain longed to cover his ears. Her voice was driving him mad. "You are a worthy son! What is your name?"

"I am called The Lost," the creature answered. "I am high amongst those who serve the Mother."

"Of course you are! I can see that you are very powerful. The Architect wishes to harm the Mother? How horrible! He must be destroyed!"

"Yes," the befuddled creature agreed, staring at Maude. "The Architect must be destroyed, but he is a coward."

Maude declared, "Well, then, he must be sought out where he has hidden himself. He is a fool to try to hide from the Mother. She must know where he is!"

"Yes, the Mother knows, but the Architect is cunning. He hides himself in the old mines, but the Mother is vigilant. When he comes, she will kill him!"

"The old mines? Where are these mines? We shall go and kill him, and the Mother will be happy."

"No." the creature slowly shook his head. "You will stay and serve the Mother here. You will spawn many powerful warriors for the Mother…"

Loghain twitched. He had heard just about enough of this, but Maude, nothing daunted, was still talking. Her voice dropped in pitch, and became even more beguiling.

"Is the Mother here? May I see her? Could you bring me before her? She must be _wonderful!"_

"The Mother is not here. She is in her Nest, where she can be protected."

"How can you be _sure_ she is safe? What if something happened? Perhaps the Architect has tricked you, and while you are here, he is attacking her! Where is the Nest? We must go to her at once!"

Genuinely alarmed, The Lost looked about him in confusion, unsure what he should do.

"The Nest is safe. The dragon protects it. The tower is old and strong. You will come with me to the breeding place. These others- "

Loghain roared, _"Now!"_

Before he had even finished the word, spells shot from the mages' staffs, locking darkspawn and golem in place. Maude's sword and dagger were in her hand, envenomed and razor sharp. Ranger knocked The Lost's legs out from under him, and Maude leaped on the creature, ripping his staff from his hand; carving through his massive neck.

Axes and magic worked slowly but inexorably on the golem. Loghain had to look for vulnerable places on the armored carapace. It was slow work, and the mages took turns freezing the creature, since even a single blow from one of those massive hands would be fatal.

When at last the enchanted fire was extinguished, and the golem lay still, Oghren paced back and forth, eyeing the thing critically.

"That metal has got to be good for something. Sod it, it looks _expensive!"_

"Maybe a smith can make use of it," Loghain agreed. "Maker knows it's hard enough. We'll take it with us...another time. Move out!"

They moved out, boots echoing in the cavernous space. Morrigan shook her head at Maude in mock reproof. "I have truly seen everything now. You were _flirting_ with that darkspawn!"

"I was not!" Maude said crossly. "I was _interrogating_ it: at great personal risk, I might add. The things I do for my country!"

"You were_ flirting!"_ Morrigan smiled darkly. "The Lost was quite charmed by you."

Sickened, Anders groaned, "Could we please never talk about that ever again? Please? That would be wonderful. Thanks a bunch."

"Me too," Sigrun said meekly. "Even _I've_ had better propositions than 'come with me to the breeding place.'"

Oghren chuckled to himself. "She wiped the floor with that one, too…"

"Quiet!" Loghain ordered. He couldn't quite believe what he had seen. He certainly never wanted to see it again. "We must be fairly close to the breeding ground."

It was not far away at all. The Lost had been in command of its defense, apparently. Another long straight passage led out of the big, sunlit chamber: a path into darkness. A horrible stink filled the air, carried by a chill draft out of the very earth. It was rank and vile. It screamed out things too abominable to know; things that no one should witness or experience: a mix of Taint, bile, blood, and excrement. Beyond these things, there was more: A perverted reek of despair and violation; of a place where sanity and humanity were stripped away, and degraded monsters were made…

"Beware of the tentacles!" Maude whispered.

_"Tentacles?"_ Anders' voice was unusually high.

"Tentacles. Freeze them," Morrigan murmured. "They are annoying, but not that dangerous, if you keep them paralyzed or frozen."

Not long after, a handful of those tentacles thrust up out of the ground like an angry forest. The thick, meaty appendages lashed at them, but they were stilled and hacked at. Several more sprouted up along their way, making their journey a slow one. Another big cavern opened up ahead, and the reek grew thicker and more unbearable. Moans, shrieks, and wails rose up from a deep pit looming before their feet.

They fought their way through the last tentacles, and Loghain winced, trying not to breath the befouled air: not wanting to make it part of himself. Maude went to the brink of the pit, and stood there silently. Loghain joined her and looked over the rim. He wished later that he had not.

None of them lingered long before the sight. There were three fully-transformed Broodmothers in the pit, unspeakably grotesque: but they were not alone. Other women had been dragged down there, and were half-buried under mobs of darkspawn: darkspawn who squirmed and bucked and howled and grunted.

Sigrun dashed away, but it was Oghren, trying to comfort her, who vomited more violently. Anders grasped a white-faced Morrigan firmly by the arm, and they went off to a corner by themselves, casting a series of rejuvenation spells on each other.

Maude cocked her head, her face a blank. "We'd better kill everything down there. Right now."

"Right now," Loghain agreed. Everything was very slow and dreamlike.

"We should seal any exits, so nothing can escape."

"I'm on it."

They did that, working quickly. From the ceiling an ancient lyrium bomb was suspended, used to shatter and melt substances that did not respond to conventional forges.

"Of course it'll still work," Oghren told them, annoyed at his own queasiness. "It's _lyrium._ The stuff lasts forever."

Nothing was left to chance. When the chains holding the bomb were broken, they ran for cover. Even with both hands over his eyes, Loghain could see the brilliant blue-white flash, and sense that for a split second the entire building had minutely expanded. In the unearthly stillness following the blast, Morrigan cast an Inferno spell to cleanse the pit of anything there that had survived, and Anders cast a storm spell that would have fried anything that survived the fire. Then the rest of them threw flasks of poison on the remains, pleased to see a green mist settle there, Nothing was moving. Even better, nothing was recognizable, and the terrifying reek was gone, replaced by the more ordinary stench of roasted flesh.

"Well," Maude remarked. "I think we deserve every bit of treasure in this Maker-forsaken hellhole for dealing with that. Maybe every bit of treasure in all Thedas."

Anders said softly, "Some of those women were still alive."

"Yes," Maude shot back. "Some of them were still alive. Some might even have still had their minds. Every one of them was Tainted. Even if we had managed to get in there and manage to kill the darkspawn and three-_three!_-Broodmothers without killing the women, the best we could do is heal them and see if the Joining would save them. Most, probably not, and you would just have prolonged their agony. I really can't imagine what mental shape anyone would be in who lived through that. Anyway, I really don't see _how_ we could have killed three Broodmothers without killing everyone else. All I can say is if I'm ever in that position, I hope my _friends_ will have the decency to kill me quickly. The important thing, of course, is to make sure it never happens."

Morrigan was tense and silent, and apparently agreed completely with Maude. She shook her head quickly at Anders, when he tried to talk about it with her.

This mission accomplished, and the Legion avenged, Sigrun was persuaded to come with them to the surface. Loghain could see that Maude was eager to recruit her for the Wardens. The dwarf was an excellent fighter with a very good attitude. Sigrun did not much care for Oghren's leers, but Maude cut that off early, asking Oghren if he had written to his wife yet, and the exact date the baby was due. They made their way back to the mouth of the cave, hoping that their escort had not given up on them and gone home, taking the horses.

"But we need to come back," Maude insisted, in a low voice. "We _need_ to come back and clear out all those treasure chests! We'll bring a _very_ big wagon!"

Loghain asked her. "So you don't begrudge Arlessa Delilah that eighty sovereigns?"

Maude scowled. "Maybe she'll consider it a loan and pay us back later."

"With interest!" Anders added, working hard at being cheerful.

Maude shook her head in shocked reproof. "Charging interest isn't done amongst the nobility. I would never charge her _interest."_ Then she laughed wildly. "I _might_ demand her first-born child in return, of course! There are precedents."

"No doubt," Loghain muttered. "Everyone can see _you_ were raised as a noble."

On the way out, Maude whispered to Loghain. "We'll need to find a map of Amaranthine that shows all the mines."

Loghain nodded. He had thought about that, too. "I'm sure there must be one at Vigil's Keep."

"And we need to look for old Tevinter ruins, too. This Mother creature is in an old Tower, that thing said. It must be fairly isolated, or the neighbors would be complaining. Most likely she's in the dungeons or a cave under the ruins. And a dragon guards it. Has anyone seen a dragon in Amaranthine? I should think that would be fairly big news. And then there is the whole issue of the Mother herself..."

"Another darkspawn leader. Probably the source of those vile worms. At least we have a name for the Architect's rival."

Maude blew out a breath. "The Mother? You do understand what that implies, don't you? A sentient, thinking, _talking_ Broodmother?"

"That's..."

"-Just about the worse thing I ever heard of, too. How could that _happen? _It will be a mercy to put the creature down. I like being merciful."

Their own men were glad to see them, of course, and when they climbed to the stop of the staircase and rejoined Lord Nathaniel and his guards, it seemed that those men were at least relieved.

Adjusting to the surface was not easy for Sigrun. She was bewildered by the open air, by the sun, by the green grass, the green leaves, the flowers. She asked questions like an eager toddler, wanting to know everything. Loghain wondered if she was still somewhat in shock from the events of the day. Maude was willing to take the girl up on her horse with her, but Sigrun stared in disbelief at the horses, and opted to march with the foot soldiers. Loghain caught glimpses of her, kicking with fascination as the soil, plucking the odd weed, pestering the man next to her with questions and observations. She might be a stranger in a strange land, but she did not seem to find it an _unpleasant _land. Perhaps anything must seem better than the Deep Roads.

Meanwhile, there was much to tell Lord Nathaniel.

"It was a breeding ground, just as we thought," Maude informed him airily, as they headed east, back along the road. "But it's not anymore. We killed all the Broodmothers and their young."

Howe looked apprehensive. "There are _female _darkspawn?"

"In a manner of speaking," Loghain said evasively. "They were destroyed, as were all the darkspawn in the ancient dwarven thaig we discovered. Best not to spread that news around, or we'll have all sorts of people poking about down there. It's still not safe. When time permits, we need to close that hole up, too, and to do that we need to make sure we've found all the exits. We found two, but there may be more." He owed it to Howe to tell him something of the truth. "We also found a few of the talking darkspawn. They appear to be conducting something of a civil war against each other."

"Good," Nathaniel grunted. "Let them kill each other off."

"That would be nice," Maude agreed, "but I don't think that's going to happen. Somehow the darkspawn have found themselves _leaders, _and I'm quite sure one of those leaders will eventually look our way. So yes, we need to send the engineers here to close off the entrances, and I think Delilah really, _really_ needs those improvements to the Vigil."

Nathaniel said stiffly, "Easy for you to say." He went back to the subject that interested him, and began plaguing Loghain with more questions about Broodmothers.

"Were any of the attackers at the Vigil these females? These Broodmothers?"

"No." He did not want to think about the things he had seen in the pit...

Maude leaned around Loghain and smirked at Howe. "If you really must know, I'll tell you, just so you can have nightmares about it. Darkspawn are all male. They reproduce by kidnapping women of other races, torturing and gang-raping them until they're thoroughly Tainted and impregnated. The women transform into enormous, mindless monsters that pop out more darkspawn. So if you've heard reports of women, whether human, elven, or dwarven, disappearing without a trace, it might well be that they were stolen by the darkspawn and taken below. They never come above ground again because they have no legs anymore. Females don't need legs to bear offspring. So there. Now you know about Broodmothers."

Howe was silent for the rest of the day.

* * *

By the time they had returned to Vigil's Keep, the noble visitors had all gone home—or fled to the safety of Amaranthine. The Wardens made their report to the Arlessa, and Loghain gave her the gold he had collected for her. Delilah was stunned by the eighty sovereigns, and insisted that she could not possibly accept it.

"It was booty taken from the darkspawn," Loghain assured her, "and I know you put the safety of your vassals before false pride."

Delilah gazed on him with damp, enormous eyes for such a long time that Maude began fidgeting. In the end the Arlessa accepted the money with graceful thanks.

They walked up the stairs together. Morrigan was chuckling.

"Nothing whatever was said about paying it back. The Arlessa apparently regards it as a gift."

Loghain gave Maude a sly glance out of the corner of his eye. "Arlessa Delilah was raised as a noble, too."

Maude nodded; not pleased, but resigned to it. An unholy barking arose from the direction of their quarters. As soon as they walked in, Topaz yipped and whined and wriggled on the floor, displaying how perfectly ecstatic she was at Loghain's return. He gave her the remains of his jerky and a good long belly rub. Ranger touched noses with Topaz in approval of her. He trotted to his corner, flopping wearily onto his blanket. Maude demanded a bath from the servants, and then laughed at a brief note left for her by Bann Esmerelle. Loghain took it from her, and frowned over the words.

_I know it was you. _

"She's a vengeful woman," Loghain said. "She'll make trouble for you, if she can." Topaz wondered why the petting had stopped, and put a heavy paw on her human's arm to make it start again. He complied automatically.

Maude was amused. "But that will be complicated by the fact that she does not want to make trouble for _you._ And while I will not go so far as to paraphrase Oghren, and claim that I 'piss on trouble'—because that would be very uncouth and quite messy—I really do think I am more than equal to anything a Bann Esmerelle sort of person could send my way." Her mouth quirked, and she stroked Loghain's jaw delicately with her fingertips. "Loghain. After what I've done, and what I've seen... I've killed dragons. I've killed Broodmothers. I've killed ogres. I've killed demons. I killed Rendon Howe. Esmerelle is an idiot to challenge me. Really. An. Idiot. She would be wise to make herself very small and go hide in a hole somewhere, because if she or any of her stooges raise a weapon to me, she's dead. And I think that would be rather nice, actually, because then Delilah could nominate Nathaniel for city Bann, and he'd be so very diligent and conscientious, and would probably have an elegant doublet made in dark blue velvet with sleeves puffed and slashed with silver. I like the idea of _Bann Nathaniel_…"

* * *

_Notes: Yes: in the next chapter, Maude will remember something else that Avernus told them.  
_

_Thanks so my reviewers: nekoninja123, Kira Kyuuketsuki, Guile, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Judy, Jenna53, muitve, Zute, Lehni, Starkaster, callalili, Enaid Aderyn, wisecracknmama, Shakespira, wayfaringpanda, and Amhran Comhrac_


	24. I Saw Something Nasty in the Blackmarsh

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 24: I Saw Something Nasty in the Blackmarsh**

Sigrun was now a Warden. Loghain admitted to himself that he would have regretted it had the cheerful dwarf girl died in the Joining.

But she had not. She had survived, and was given her own quarters at the Vigil. Sigrun was a little bewildered by the size of them, as she never in her life had had a room of her own. She was unused to privacy in a larger sense. Perhaps that was what made her so gregarious.

However, getting her to ride a horse proved impossible at the moment. To Loghain's surprise—and Maude's as well—she was not as easily manipulated as Oghren. She knew what she wanted and what she liked and what she had no desire to do. She had no desire whatever to perch high up off the ground on the back of an enormous and unpredictable beast.

"And I _like_ riding in the wagon," she told Maude. "That's fun. I wouldn't mind learning to drive a team. Don't you think that driving a team could be useful?"

Maude assured it that it could be, indeed. They were taking a wagon with them on their current adventure, and Sigrun sat on the wagon seat with Bodahn Feddic, learning to drive oxen.

They could not put off going to the Blackmarsh. It was the only other place in Amaranthine from which had come a report of those damnable "worms with legs." After studying the maps of the arling, they had marked the sites of abandoned castles or manors, remembering what The Lost had said about a tower. There was such a ruin in the Blackmarsh. It was entirely possible that they would find the lair of The Mother there, in that forsaken spot.

And there was their lost Warden to consider. Loghain suspected that Kristoff was dead, if he had blundered into a nest of those grub-like darkspawn. Nonetheless, he was a Warden, and was owed something. Also, if there were more of those new darkspawn there, it was likely there was some sort of Broodmother, even if not The Mother herself. They must go, and they must go soon.

Topaz never left Loghain's side, trying pitifully to please him, trying to show how indispensable and adorable she was. Loghain privately resolved that if Maude wanted puppies, she could just buy a breeding pair of mabaris with their gold. Topaz wanted to be with them, and he wanted her to be there, and that was that. The two dogs were trotting happily beside their horses, nosing and sniffing.

With them, if only for part of the way, was Nathaniel Howe. He had gathered his men and rounded up some local militia, determined to see a large caravan of traders and travelers safely on its way to Denerim. Once there, the plan was for him to collect the traders wanting to go the other way, and escort them at least as far as the Vigil. He had brought a few scouts, but they would not stray far from the road. The point was to keep trade flowing. They traveled together until the sun was high in the sky, and the road branched. Nathaniel saluted Loghain with grave respect, and then turned his head away, scowling, at the sight of Maude's lovely smile.

"Oh, well," Maude shrugged, cocking her head to look at his retreating back. "He'll come around,"

"—Or not," Loghain grunted.

"Heh," Oghren grinned. "She's wiped the floor with better men than him. Better darkspawn, too. Just a matter of time."

"I don't want to see any more of her floor wiping," Anders remarked.

"Yes, you would, if 'twere a human," Morrigan assured him. "'Tis most diverting. Let me tell you a story about a King of Ferelden whom she uses as a mop…"

They stationed their guardsman and the wagon at the base camp they set up about a quarter mile from the beginning of the Blackmarsh. It was a gloomy place already: mist rising from soggy, unwholesome earth. If it was always this gloomy, it would be wise to wait until well past daybreak tomorrow to begin their explorations.

* * *

The dogs came with them, clearly enjoying the outing, if not the surroundings. Fog hung heavy in the air, darkening the sky. From the feeble, leafless scrub to the straggling weeds, to the fetid smell of the marsh around them, the Blackmarsh seemed a land where the sun never shone, and nothing wholesome could live.

"Nasty place," Anders muttered.

Maude laughed. "You just reminded me of my Great-Aunt Ada Darkling. Utterly appalling old hag. She ruled the roost at her family manor for years, pretending to be mad—"

Loghain snorted. He had heard of the woman.

Maude amended that. "—Well, madder than she really was. Whenever anyone contradicted her, or asked for coin, or wanted to get married, or did anything she disapproved of, she'd throw a fit, and rave about how when she was five years old she _'saw something nasty in the woodshed!'_ Mother couldn't abide her. When Great-Aunt Ada tried tell mother about seeing something nasty in the woodshed, Mother came right back with, 'Yes, but did it see _you?' _And then great-Aunt Ada tried to hit Mother with volume two of the _Chronicles of Calenhad_, and Mother snatched it away and thumped her over the head with it, and Father dragged me away so I didn't see what happened next, which is too bad really..."

Ranger growled.

Maude broke off her story, suddenly alert. "Not darkspawn...but—"

Huge, ungainly figures burst out of the fog, loping at them with alarming speed.

"Werewolves!" Morrigan snapped. "Do not let them drool or bleed upon you!" And with that she cursed two in their tracks.

Loghain froze briefly in disbelief. Maude had once babbled about werewolves, but he had not been listening carefully enough, apparently. Werewolves were supposed to have been eradicated ages ago. That these were werewolves, however, became all too apparent as they attacked him, clawing and snarling. These were certainly not real wolves, but some grotesque blending of man and beast. They bled freely enough, at any rate. The Wardens hacked at them, and the dogs leaped for legs and worried at exposed throats...

"Werewolves aren't so bad," Maude remarked, wiping her sword afterward. "They're pretty strong and these were Blighted, but nobody could reasonably describe them as _cunning."_

"They're Blighted, all right." Oghren stared down at the mangled corpse of one of the creatures, and grunted. "If they're Blighted, then Blight's been here, and that means darkspawn. They're nearby, all right."

Loghain nodded, sensing the same thing. They moved deeper into the mist, finding the crumbling ruins of a village. This place had been called Blackmarsh, too: Blackmarsh-by-the-Sea. It was on all the old maps, and had once been a fairly good-sized village. Whatever catastrophe had destroyed it, had destroyed it long ago. On the prowl for possible loot, Maude found the remains of the village records, and thumbed through them briefly.

Blackmarsh's last overlord was the Orlesian baroness Ghislaine de Retz. Hints in the records led Maude—with the concordance of Morrigan and Anders—to believe that she had been a mage.

"Which begs the question: why was she not in the Orlesian Circle?" Morrigan wondered, scorn on her lips.

"Noble." Maude answered, still leafing through the records. "Orlesian nobles are not like other Orlesians. For all their going on about the Chantry, Orlesian nobles do not feel it necessary to be bound by the laws governing lesser folk. My father said it was pretty well known that that certain nobles were secret mages. The families send for mage tutors to learn to control themselves, so nobles simply never used their magic where anyone important could see them. Father said that for them it would be like eating with the wrong fork." She looked askance at Oghren, and said loudly, "or like picking your nose_ in public_. Thank you. It's probably where Arlessa Isolde got the idea that she could do that in Ferelden. We're so primitive we take laws seriously. Sometimes." She grinned to herself.

"Something happened here," Loghain said, studying the ruins. "Whatever happened here, happened in Blessed 92. These building should not have decayed so much in forty years." He strode over to the walled enclosure in the center of the village. "This was the manor house. It was clearly destroyed by fire. Maybe the villagers rose up against her."

"And she defended herself with magic?" Anders considered. "Maybe. If she were in mortal danger, she might have had an involuntary explosion of magic. Still, I don't see how that could have killed everyone."

"Unless, of course," Morrigan pointed out, "the explosion was _not_ involuntary. Out here, far from her peers, alone among those she would have regarded as savages, perhaps she saw no reason to be…discreet?"

Maude agreed. "I think you're on to something!"

They moved through the town. Maude plucked something from the ground: a child's toy, its faded paint still oddly cheerful. She presented it to Oghren with a flourish.

"You told me once that you wanted a pony," she smirked.

The dwarf guffawed, pleased that she had remembered something that he had undoubtedly said in a drunken stupor, and mumbled something about giving it "to the kid."

Beyond the village, the landscape grew even wilder. They found odd things: a ritual stone circle, fragments of dragon bone, valuables cast into the muck of the marsh.

Anders and Morrigan moved off by themselves, finding a place where the air was unnaturally cold. They conferred briefly and quietly, and then nodded.

"The Veil has been torn here," Morrigan declared gravely. "And not only once. Something very powerful was here. Traces may remain. We must be on our guard."

And so they were, moving cautiously over the quaking, sodden earth. The dogs were skilled at finding safe paths, but did not like this place. Loghain looked at his other companions, and they clearly agreed.

"Darkspawn," Maude murmured. "I don't sense a great many, but there are definitely darkspawn here. It's odd: I didn't sense them around the manor at all. Could there be something else out here?"

From a leather bag, Loghain pulled out some items belonging to Kristoff: a towel, and an unwashed sock, found in his room at the Vigil. The scent must be weak by now, but Loghain had great faith in mabari tracking skills. The dogs_ 'whuffed_,' and then moved north, trotting a little faster.

"Would it help for you to take bird form?" Loghain asked Morrigan.

She shook her head. "'Twould be useless. The fog is too thick, especially near the ground. I am better off as I am, able to cast spells."

They found Kristoff's campsite: the tent neatly pitched, the cot properly made. No human had been there in many days. The dogs sniffed about, and then moved eastward. The sensation of darkspawn became urgent and irritating. Around a bend they were set upon by the bizarre new grub-like darkspawn: a few of them only, the eggs scattered about the rocks in a random fashion.

Around the next bend, they found Kristoff.

Ranger drew back with a sharp yip, and then growled. The body in armor lay where the man had been killed, obviously some days ago, from the odor.

"They're here," Maude whispered to Loghain. "They're watching us. Why, I wonder?"

They could stay where they were forever, or they could get on with it. Maude saw no traps or tripwires, and she and the dogs walked over to Kristoff's corpse, and were joined by the rest of the party. They stood in a rough circle, backs to each other.

"Yes, that is your Grey Warden," rumbled a hoarse voice. A big darkspawn leaped out of the fog from a little embankment, and advanced on them. "The Mother, she said that if he were killed and left here, others would come: and she was right. The Mother is always right."

"Yes," Maude agreed instantly. "The Mother is frightfully clever. Who are you?"

"I am The First," the darkspawn replied, very satisfied with itself. "I am highest among those who serve the Mother. She has sent me with a message for the Grey Warden."

Before Maude could exercise her wiles on the creature, it raised its hands, and there was an explosion of light, a sensation of being _squeezed_ though a sieve, and the Wardens were buffetted by a whirwind of magic. The dogs bayed and howled, and almost instantly the fog was gone, and they were all in a new, sunlit world.

But no world Loghain knew. The light was too bright: unnaturally so. Objects blurred at their edges. He clutched at his sword, and then blinked again. The Keening Blade was glowing blue in his hand. Maude's sword was glowing as well, but a hot red, rippling with tiny tongues of flame. He looked about him, unnerved. The dwarves were equally bewildered, but Maude much less so. Morrigan and Anders were glowing faintly themselves.

"Crap!" Maude complained. "We're in the Fade again. Whose brilliant idea was this?"

"Not alone," sneered Morrigan. "It looks like our talking darkspawn was far from 'the First' in his class!"

Sure enough, there was the First and a handful minions, all looking equally baffled by their surroundings. Anders sniggered.

"I am betrayed!" The First raged. "Ah! I have been a fool! The Mother has deceived me!"

Maude opened her mouth, and Loghain clapped a hand over it. He absolutely refused to listen to her try to charm yet another of these monstrosities. The First scampered heavily down a path and vanished, leaving the rest of the darkspawn to cover his retreat and be summarily killed by the Wardens. It did not take them long, but The First was out of sight by the time the fight was over.

"It was a trick!" Maude cried, surprised and almost amused. "It really was just a trick. This little band of darkspawn was detailed out here—the worm eggs, too-probably as far as possible from the Mother, to create a diversion! That's why we sensed so few of them, and nothing at all by the deserted mansion. They led Kristoff out here and killed him, and waited for more Wardens to come looking for him. And aren't the darkspawn becoming civilized! First, the Mother comes up with the idea of creating the diversion, and then she sends that fellow The First out, not only to command the patrol, but to get him killed. He must have been getting too big for his britches."

"Right," Anders snarked. "Really _civilized."_

"I could have _told_ him," Morrigan said, very irritated, "When he was casting that spell, that it would go wrong. So here he is in the Fade with us—somewhere. We will need a very powerful magical source to help us escape. There is a demon at the heart of this."

"Just like that time at the Circle," Maude agreed cheerfully. "That was really interesting. You lads weren't along for that, so I'll tell you, so you feel better about our chances of escaping this place."

"Soon would be good," Oghren grunted, eyeing the warped dreamscape queasily. "This isn't..._right!"_

"Is this what normal dreams are like?" asked Sigrun. "They're not very nice, are they?"

"Well," Maude began, "the Fade is a strange place, but it varies from person to person. When you're dragged in against your will, the way we were, it's shaped quite a bit by the mind of the demon in charge at the time. When we were rescuing the Tower of Mages from itself, we were trapped by a Sloth Demon, and it locked each of us away in separate bizarre Fade-worlds. I suppose the demon was trying to lull us into complacency, but it was an idiot, like most demons are, really. It sent me to a Fade version of Weisshaupt, as if _that _was any place I would actually want to see. All it did was convince me that Weisshaupt is horrible, and that I'm never going there. Mind you, I have no idea if what it showed me was anything like the real Weisshaupt or not. It was a huge, empty marble hall. It was ugly and boring, and then a pathetic imitation of Duncan greeted me."

"Did he actually look like Duncan?" Loghain wondered.

"Sort of. Sounded like him too, only I saw at once it was a fake, because he was all 'yay, we destroyed all the Archdemons forever and we'll sing songs and rest on our laurels until the end of time.' Which was just ridiculous, not only if you knew Duncan, but any actual human being ever. So I killed him."

"—And took his stuff," Loghain murmured.

Maude had heard him, and shook her head. "No stuff. There was no stuff on _anybody_ when I was in the Fade. It was sickening. That's how I was able to remember it was all just a bad dream."

"Bad dream or no," Morrigan reproved her. "'Tis essential to remember that if you die in the Fade, you die indeed. Furthermore, we must return to our bodies as quickly as possible, as they are lying helpless in a marsh frequented by wolves."

"Ewww!" Sigrun said, utterly horrified. "That's…ewww. Whatever we have to kill, let's kill it right now!"

"You and me both, nuglet." Oghren agreed.

They moved along warily. Up ahead, magic coalesced, spinning in lazy whorls.

"The tears in the Veil," Anders said, pointing. "We can close them from this side. In fact, it improves our chances of getting out. We can't escape through a tear without drawing a lot of demons with us. We need to squeeze out right through the surface of the Veil itself."

"Right, then," Loghain said, trying not to be distracted by the bright blue glowing sword in his hand.

They wandered the dreamscape, finding the three tears and each time destroying the scantily-clad demons disporting themselves there.

"Demonettes," Maude called them scornfully: much like the Desire Demons Loghain had seen, but not nearly as powerful. As they moved along, the sun, already burning, grew brighter still, and they neared a strange vision of a charming seaside village. This then, was Blackmarsh Village as it once was, perhaps…

Sigrun whispered, "Maude, how did you get out of the Fade that time?"

"I had to go through a maze of Fadeworlds and I don't have time to describe them all to you, except say they were based mostly on the fears and nightmares of mages and Templars. There was one, though, that was rotten with darkspawn and had an ogre at the end. It was tough. There was this dreamy space at the center of it all, and I found a mage there, who had tried to escape and failed. Nice fellow. His name was Niall, and he told me—"

"—Niall?" Anders interrupted. "I know—knew Niall. He was a good friend of mine. He was an Isolationist—he thought all mages should go away and live on an island together."

"Well," Maude said grimly, "he ended up isolated on an island in the Fade. He had been there too long to survive when we destroyed the demon, but he told me what I needed to do to fight Uldred. I felt badly that I couldn't save him. Anyway, I also had to go around and wake up all my friends. Morrigan knew she was in the Fade at least…"

Morrigan snorted in contempt. "I agree with Maude's assessment of the stupidity of demons. The creature had marooned me with a simulacrum of Flemeth, who was behaving in most laughably maternal way!"

"So we killed her, and then Morrigan vanished…"

"No, 'twas _you _who vanished…"

"What was the little pike-twirler dreaming about?" Oghren asked.

Maude laughed. "He thought he was with his sister, that Goldanna person and her children. He invited me to supper. He was goofily happy at being surrounded by family, and when I told them they were demons, he told me I was acting _really strange_…"

Loghain shook his head, picturing it.

"...And darling Ranger knew he was in the Fade and just took a nap, so he was fine…"

Ranger gave himself a proud shake, and sat down to scratch his ear. Clearly, any place was fine with him as long as his person was there.

"Sten knew it was a dream, and Leliana wasn't that hard to rouse, since all she was doing was praying with a demon priest beside her, and that looked fairly boring. The tricky one was Wynne. For a moment, I really thought she would turn on me and fight. She was consumed by guilt, surrounded by dead apprentices—who were all elves, by the way. Morrigan, you remember what we found out at the Dalish camp about _that!"_

Morrigan told the rest, glad for the opportunity to malign Wynne. "In her youth, she had been even more of an insufferable shrew, and had tormented a young elven apprentice under her care until the boy fled the Tower. Naturally, the Templars went in pursuit, and the old woman had for years carried the burden of having hounded him to his death. We discovered that he was not dead, however. The Templars had attacked him, and left him for dead, and the boy eventually was saved and healed by the Dalish."

Maude broke in. "…And then Wynne actually had the gall to urge him to return to the Tower! As if the Templars wouldn't have slaughtered him on the spot! Told him it was his 'duty!'"

"Can we _please _talk about this later?" Oghren pleaded. "One of those wolves might be molesting me while you tell stories!"

Repentant, Maude hurried on to the end, "So once we were together, we killed the Sloth Demon, and there we were—out of the Fade!" She and the dogs trotted ahead to scout out the strange Fade-village. Peculiar scenes of past life were played out before them, and it took little to piece together the obvious fact that the Baroness had been a cruel mistress.

"So the village of Blackmarsh still lives," Morrigan observed, "but only in the Fade. Interesting..."

Along the way, a Hunger Demon tried to lure them to their doom, disguised as a young girl. It was a laughable attempt, and the demon was put down without delay. They hurried through tunnels of living dead, and suddenly popped out into the middle of Blackmarsh-by-the-Sea—now full of angry and rebellious people. Within minutes, they understood what had happened.

They were first accosted by a guardsman—not a hostile one. He asked who they were, and when Loghain told him they were Grey Wardens, and trapped here, the man shook his head.

"Then you are just as we are. Trapped in this endless nightmare. And yet—there is a spirit here, come to free us! Perhaps you could help him."

They learned more of the situation. The Baroness had been stealing children, apparently to use them in magical rituals. Loghain was unsurprised. Of _course_ she was evil. Of _course_ she sucked the blood from innocent Fereldan children. Of _course _she had to be killed. She was _Orlesian,_ after all. She was a Blood Mage as well, but some Fereldan blood mages were all right. Avernus had died for his country, after all. No, that the Baroness was _Orlesian _was at the heart of her evil.

And she had trapped this entire village in the Fade with her, as a final act of revenge, when they rose against her and very properly burned her manor around her ears.

By the time they reached the manor gates, where angry villagers were massing once more to fight for freedom, Loghain was furious enough to take on the Baroness single-handed.

Instead, he found an ally. An entity of some sort, glowing blue, and clad in full armor, was denouncing the Baroness in front of the courtyard gates.

"The Mansion will not protect you, fiend! Come out and face the penalty for your crimes!" The being turned and challenged them. "And who are you? More minions of the Baroness? Or more helpless souls?"

"Neither!" Maude declared stoutly. "We're nobody's minions, and we're certainly not helpless!"

"We are Grey Wardens," Loghain said, "brought here against our will."

The glowing entity shook its head. "I know not what a Grey Warden is, but you seem able folk. I am Justice. Long have I watched these people's sufferings and seethed over their wrongs. Will you join with these people against their oppressor?"

Anders cleared his throat, "Didn't we come to the conclusion that she's a mean, scary witch? Do we really want to antagonize her?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "The only mean, scary witch you need fear antagonizing is _me._ We should confront this Baroness, and force her to use her magic to send us through the Veil."

"Sounds like a plan," Maude agreed.

Loghain had no reservations whatever about attacking an Orlesian usurper. "We'll stand with you," he told Justice.

"Then there will never be a better time!" Justice shouted through the locked gates. "Come out and submit yourself to Justice!"

"No Orlesian knows what Justice is!" Loghain growled.

"Then we shall teach her!" the spirit answered.

Good enough. Together, they kicked in the gate. Believing he could do it was all that the Fade required, it seemed. The courtyard was broad and real enough, all but the edges, which seemed somehow…unfinished. And at the far end…

She was almost exactly what he expected. Perhaps he had not expected the demons…wraiths…whatever…to come with her, but she was exactly the arrogant, inbred, painted tart his imagination had created. To be sure, he hadn't expected her to wear Tevinter mage's robes along with a tiara, but perhaps his imagination was too limited, when addressing the iniquities of Orlesians.

The townsfolk poured in after them, crying out against the Baroness for her crimes. The Baroness—or whatever the woman now was—was unmoved by such recitations.

"It was my right!" she sneered. "Your children's lives and blood were mine by right—as were yours. You lived on _my_ land, and owed _me_ service: I, your rightful ruler! And what about _your_ crimes? You burned down my mansion with me inside it!"

"That sounds like Justice to me!" Loghain shot back. "'Rightful ruler?' No Orlesian witch is a rightful ruler in Ferelden!"

"These innocent people are no longer alone, Baroness!" declared Justice. "Your crimes end today!"

"As it happens," the sorceress scoffed, "I am not alone, either."

Out of the doorway, The Lost emerged, looking as smug as something without much more than a skull for a face could manage.

"You should be killing them now," it rumbled. "The Grey Warden, it is more dangerous than you imagine. They must die, and you will be sending me back through the Veil for my reward."

"The First, once again, is the First to run to a female for help!" Maude jeered. "You should choose your pets more wisely, Baroness!"

The First snarled at her, and plunged into combat. It was a madness of wraiths and demons and the powerful darkspawn leader. The shades of the townsfolk did not shrink from combat, either, but stood forth bravely. Loghain was proud of them, and proud to fight to uphold them. Morrigan was able to slow The First, while Anders froze the wraiths, leaving them for Oghren and Sigrun to hack apart, while the dogs leaped at them, ripping away shreds of incorporeal flesh.

Loghain focused on the First. He was strong. He was as strong as the Hurlock Generals Loghain had faced in the streets the day of the last battle against the Archdemon: as strong as the Hurlock Vanguard they had fought on the march to Denerim. This was not a mindless killing machine. As crude and brutal as the creature was, there was a kind of intellect there: one that cut and parried like a human warrior. It would have been a hard fight, had Loghain faced him one-on-one.

But of course that was not the situation. Maude was stabbing the creature in the back, her face gleeful. There was undoubtedly some sort of disgusting poison on her blades. An almost comical expression of surprise and pain distorted the First's face, and it collapsed to its knees, weapons slipping from its nerveless fingers.

"They are too much!" the creature panted. "You must be sending me back through the Veil now, before it is too late!"

"Useless fool!" stormed the Baroness. "I'll be rid of you all! I shall send them back through the Veil, all right—and your life will power the spell!"

"No! No..." The thing screamed, as its life was sucked away. There was a moment of cold and dark and _pushing,_ as if they were being squeezed through a tunnel too small for them. Then nausea and thirst...

And silence, but for the frogs in the swamp.

"Back in the world!" Maude announced, from a few yards to his right. "Hurray. I think."

Loghain pushed himself up and tried to swallow. It was nearly impossible to guess how much time had passed. The heavy fog that had darkened the sky was gone. The angle of the sun suggested that it was the middle of the afternoon. Perhaps they had lain here an hour. Perhaps two. They were damned lucky not to have been gnawed upon.

Maude brushed angrily at the twigs that had fallen into her hair from a whitewood tree. Morrigan wore an equally disgusted expression, and wiped something from her armor.

"How revolting!" she muttered.

Anders blew out a breath, and swayed up. The dwarves looked very uncomfortable.

Sigrun said, "I think I'm going to throw up, but I really don't want to."

Maude stumbled over to her, holding out a canteen. "Have some watered brandy. It really does help."

Oghren grunted, reaching for his own canteen. "Have some unwatered brandy. It helps more."

Being four-legged, Ranger and Topaz seemed in better spirits than any of them. Ranger got up and shook himself, as if from a long and pleasant nap. Topaz was a little more uncertain, and sniffed the air suspiciously.

Very carefully, Loghain got his feet under him and rose. He felt a bit light-headed, but suspected that it could have been worse.

Anders asked, "Anybody hurt?"

Grunts and sighs. The First was dead on the ground, as were the other darkspawn they had killed in the Fade. Loghain looked around at his Wardens. Everyone seemed to be essentially all right, and no parts were missing. One of them was still down…

Topaz growled, and Ranger trotted over to sniff where she was sniffing. Maude stared, and whispered, "Loghain!"

Kristoff's body, dead for days, was stirring. The Wardens gathered, looking at each other. Morrigan and Anders readied their spells.

Loghain expected an attack by one of the living dead, when the corpse turned around, looked at them, and spoke. It was Kristoff's face and voice, but Kristoff himself had been gone, Loghain guessed, for several days. Decay had set in, and the eyes were sunk into the head and gleaming with unearthly light.

"Not looking so good there, Kristoff," grunted Oghren, his axe at the ready.

"I am not Kristoff," the being said. "Do not call me by his name. I am Justice. The demon has escaped and is nearby. It must be destroyed."

"Justice?" breathed Maude. "You came through the Veil with us?"

"Yes...it would seem so. But not alone. The demon will be more powerful than ever in your world. It must be destroyed before it can do more harm."

"Absolutely!" Maude agreed. "Let's go get it!"

It seemed a sound plan, and they had not far to go. By the ruins of the manor, the Baroness was waiting for them: very Orlesian, very superior, very scornful of the world into which she had thrust herself. Then she transformed.

Loghain had never seen a Pride Demon, and was impressed. It was nearly as big as that armored ogre in the Knotwood Hills. It was _not _armored, however, and went down under a blistering attack. Kristoff—or Justice—threw himself into the fight with abandon. It was astonishing how well an animated corpse could wield a mace.

"Do you see this sort of thing a lot?" Sigrun yelled at Maude.

"All the time!" Maude shouted back. "And worse!"

When dead, demons tended to deliquesce, dissolving into the earth. This one smelled _really_ bad, and the stink was made worse by the presence of Kristoff/Justice. Loghain covered his face with his hand, and walked away a few steps. Maude wrinkled her nose, but still dove in to see if there was treasure to be found.

"Too bad!" she complained. "That transformation destroyed her jewelry. I liked that tiara."

"You already _have_ a tiara, Maude," Loghain pointed out.

"So? Hers was smaller and more low-key than mine. It would have been suitable for less formal occasions. Or Morrigan might have liked it. Wouldn't you like a tiara, Morrigan?"

"What's a tiara?" Sigrun asked.

"The little crown she was wearing."

"Can regular people wear those?" Sigrun asked, intrigued. "Or do you have to be noble?"

Maude paused, blinking. "I wear a tiara whenever I like, and I'm not technically a noble anymore…" Then she beamed. "I think it's more a matter of _'if you've got one, wear it!'_ More a function of money than class. If you're a woman. Men don't wear tiaras."

"—Some magisters do!" Anders corrected her. "And the Black Divine in Minrathous wears one. It's even called 'The Divine Tiara.'"

Maude stared at him briefly. "I think that says everything that needs to be said on the subject. Really."

Morrigan frowned. "I do not wish to see you wearing a tiara. That absurd cowl of yours is quite bad enough!"

Not surprisingly, the death of the demon freed up hidden caches of magnificent loot. Maude found a long piece of ancient dragonbone, and was already planning to show it to Master Wade. While the rest of the party pottered about scavenging and chattering, Justice sought Loghain's opinion about his proper course of action.

"You are of this world, and seem to be of good character—"

Smiles, coughs, and chuckles from his fellow Wardens. Maude patted his arm comfortingly, but she was smiling too. Topaz gazed up at Loghain, wagging her tail.

"-I find myself something at a loss," Justice continued, oblivious. "I am unfamiliar with this place. Ought I to stay and avenge the former resident of this body?"

Loghain, surprised at such a question, did not answer immediately. From the corner of his eye, he could see Morrigan swelling with wrath and suspicion.

"Uh, Justice?" Maude said softly. "It would be very wrong and selfish for us to make you stay here when you really belong in the Fade."

"Your generosity is commendable. However, I find this world most interesting. There is much of beauty here."

"You're absolutely right!" Maude agreed. "Absolutely. It's important to make the most of your surroundings, wherever they are. But you're a spirit of Justice, right? You wouldn't want to commit an injustice here, anymore than you would in the Fade. Would you?"

"Certainly not," Justice assured her seriously, his voice mild and resonant. "It would go against my nature."

"Well," Maude said, a very kind and concerned expression on her face. "If you were to remain in Kristoff's body, it would be a terrible experience for Kristoff's wife, Aura, who is expected to arrive _any day now._ She might even have arrived at Vigil's Keep as we speak! It's bad enough that we'll have to tell her her husband is dead. She has a right to expect his ashes so she can mourn him properly. If you're…occupying…his body, she won't be able to do that, and that will be so very unfair to her."

"Aura?" Justice said. The decaying face grew tender. "I have some share in this man's memories. He loved Aura greatly. And she loved him. I would not wish to cause her pain."

"Well, then," Maude urged, "we really need to send you back to the Fade. You'll have such interesting stories to share with the other spirits. We can have the appropriate funeral rites for Kristoff, and Aura will be sad, but she won't be frightened or horrified."

"An excellent plan," Morrigan supported her. "It would be best to return you immediately. It will be tiring for Anders and me, but it can be done. Sending a spirit into the Fade is not nearly as difficult as escaping oneself!"

Anders made a face. "It's going to take all my lyrium, you know."

Morrigan hissed in his ear. "'Twould be well spent! I do not propose to travel with a rotting corpse. We shall send this spirit back, and quickly—lest he decide to find a younger, fresher host to occupy. I did not become a Grey Warden to avoid possession by Flemeth, just to be possessed by a knight-errant of the Fade! Nor do I intend the same for you!"

Loghain pondered the advantages and disadvantages of keeping a spirit of Justice to fight for the Grey Wardens. Justice seemed a good sort…or at least a very benevolent sort of spirit, with sound views about Orlesian noblewomen. Nonetheless, his presence made Loghain very uncomfortable. The longer he was with them, the more likely it was that he would hear stories about Loghain's lapses, and then he would probably nag at him to make restitution. It would be worse than living with Wynne. Spirits and demons were attracted to mages: everyone knew that. Morrigan was wary, but Anders might even be persuaded to give this spirit house-room, as it were, and then what would come of it?

"Do it," Loghain ordered. "Now."

Morrigan gestured the non-mages out of the way, and a ritual soon began. Anders' cherished pouch of lyrium was dipped into again and again. Blue light spun and refracted, and suddenly there was a _whoosh!_ as if a giant's breath had been forcefully expelled. Kristoff's body went limp. Morrigan sat down on a fallen log, and Anders sat at her feet and leaned his head back into her lap.

He remarked, "I don't suppose you have any brandy left, Oghren…"

"That I do," the dwarf said, passing his flask to the mage.

"Well, it is done," Morrigan said, sounding tired, "and well done." She grimaced at Oghren's flask, but took a drink all the same.

"I would estimate the cost at around three sovereigns worth of lyrium," Anders complained. "Am I going to be reimbursed by the Grey Wardens?"

Loghain scowled, but Maude bounced to her feet. "Of course! It's only fair. Ooo! I sound like Justice! No, I don't think I'm possessed…"

Kristoff's body was divested of arms, armor and personal possession. Maude put everything in neat piles, lingering over some keepsakes.

"I suppose the widow has first dibs. I really am being awfully nice today. Look at that! That's a very fine bit of goldsmithing. The sentimental value would be even greater, I suppose. I think he's ready to face the Maker now..."

Sigrun had not seen bodies cremated before, and found it very disturbing. Oghren took her for a short walk and a long drink. The girl turned her back on the ceremony, which was fairly rude, but apparently she found the entire thing creepily like a nug roast… which was exactly what she loudly whispered to Oghren.

A container for the ashes turned out to be something of a problem.

"I am not giving up my new tea jar!" Maude insisted. "It's mine! It's silver! Anora never gave back my old one."

"Of course she didn't!" Loghain said, exasperated. "It had Cailan in it. You weren't actually going to put tea in it again, were you?"

She regarded him blankly. "Why not? I would have rinsed it out first."

Alas, there proved to be nothing more appropriate for holding Kristoff's earthly remains than that same jar. Maude grumpily dumped out her precious Highever Honeygrass onto the marshy earth, and scowled at them all.

"You'll be sorry when you have to put up with me in the morning when I haven't had my _tea..."_

* * *

Their adventures in the Fade had been hard on them all. They staggered back to camp, gave their guardsmen the news in brief, ate a truly enormous amount of lamb-and-pea stew, and turned in early. Loghain was too tired to be troubled by dreams, at least consciously. It was good to have a cuddle on the big, oversized cot with Maude, with their dogs crowding into the tent with them. No more than a cuddle, alas, since they fell asleep almost immediately.

They scouted briefly the next day. As far as they could tell, the Blackmarsh was genuinely purged of the evil that had burdened it for so long. The fog had dissipated. While the plant life was still scrubby and sparse, there was hope that it would revive, in time.

"I'd still be very careful about rebuilding that manor house," Anders remarked. "The Pride Demon may be gone, but all the nastiness tends to linger."

"'Tis true," Morrigan agreed, very decidedly. "The ruins should be razed and the land be used for nothing more than pasturing sheep. Anyone who is foolish enough to want to live on that spot is likely to see something very nasty indeed. And not just in the woodshed!"

Maude laughed. "We'll talk to Delilah about it. Maybe she can send some settlers out here. There are plenty of refugees looking for land, and I think this may well be the safest place in Amaranthine now, at least as far as the darkspawn are concerned. If they don't want to try to rebuild the village, they could go farther north around that little harbor. "

"I'll talk to Nathaniel when he returns from Denerim," Loghain said, thinking it over. "We're likely to see him first."

Loghain was right. They loaded the wagon, and made their way back to the Pilgrim's Path. By the time they reached the crossroads, they found Nathaniel Howe, and a small band of horsemen waiting for them.

* * *

"Something's wrong in the Wending Wood," Nathaniel told Loghain, grim as ever. "We managed to get the caravan to Denerim with no one killed, but only just. I know this sounds mad, but we were attacked by _trees—"_

"I believe you, Nathaniel," Maude assured him. "I've been attacked by trees myself. Though that was in the Brecilian Forest."

He glared at her. Then he turned to Loghain again. "There were even more trees on the way back, and a demented elf who demanded the return of her sister! One of the scouts was badly wounded, but found a mass grave before he was chased by a pack of wolves. It might be the Dalish, but this doesn't _feel_ like them. We also found some dead bandits. I remember that you said that you had sensed something in the Wending Wood."

"Not darkspawn," Loghain said, shaking his head, "but that's not to say there aren't any. There are certainly plenty of places to hide in the Wending Woods..."

Nathaniel agreed immediately. "Among them a very large abandoned silverite mine. I can show you on the map where we were attacked, and most of those attacks, both going and coming, were fairly close to that mine."

Maude gave Loghain a quick, excited glance. What was it that The Lost had said about the Architect?

_"He hides himself in the old mines..."_

Amaranthine abounded in mineral wealth. There were dozens of mines in the arling, both large and small. But a large silverite mine, and ill-defined attacks. The Blackmarsh had been something of a wash, where the darkspawn were concerned, but this? The Architect might indeed be up to something...

"Where is that caravan of yours?" he asked brusquely.

"About an hour behind. As soon as we were well out of the Woods, I rode ahead to try to catch you before you could return to the Vigil."

"Good. We'll go on to that mine of yours now, and we'll want all the men you can spare, if my guess is right. At least," he cast a doubtful glance over his people, "we'll camp on the edge of the Wending Wood, and go in at first light tomorrow. "

* * *

"Drake's Fall!" Maude sat up and shouted. Loghain open his eyes to darkness. The dogs stirred and whined, sensing her mood.

"It's the bloody middle of the night, Maude," he grumbled. "Go back to sleep."

"No! Loghain! I just realized where the Mother is! She's at Drake's Fall! I know it!"

"Maude, put some clothes on, if you're going to wake the camp!" Loghain warned her.

There were groans and complaints from the tents nearby, as Maude slid off the cot and struck a light, digging through Loghain's maps.

"Ha! Here's Amaranthine! Look at this!" She slipped into one of his shirts, and spread the map out on the end of the cot. She grinned at him, tapping her finger on the northwest of the arling of Amaranthine. There was no help for it, so he pushed himself up on his elbows, squinting at the parchment.

"Maude, do be quiet!" Morrigan protested, her voice muffled by sleepiness and two tents between them.

Maude was undaunted. "Come and see this, Morrigan! Avernus told us how to find The Mother, though we didn't know it at the time!"

A silence from that quarter, and then footsteps. Loghain grabbed up his breeches and slid into them just before Morrigan threw open the tent flap and made herself at home.

Maude was ecstatic. "Drake's Fall! Don't you remember? Avernus _told_ us about _two_ entrances to the Deep Roads that he knew of in Amaranthine. One of them was in the Knotwood Hills. I was confused by the entrance to Vigil's Keep and didn't think about other possibilities, but I believe that Avernus—and the other Wardens—didn't know about what lay under Vigil's Keep. The entrance there is indirect, after all—probably really a darkspawn tunnel connecting the dungeons and the Deep Roads. There was the other, proper, entrance: the one that he knew about; the one that the Wardens used!"

Morrigan nodded, almost allowing herself to look excited. "_'There is also an entrance below the dungeons of an old Tevinter fortress, Drake's Fall. We used that for our own Wardens' Callings._' I remember now." She snorted a laugh. "I remember also that you were indignant about it, as Arl Howe intended to make you live there after you married his son—but not the laconic one traveling with us, apparently."

"No—he wanted me to marry poor old Tommy." Maude shook her head dolefully. "It was never going to happen, but at the time I was rather flattered to be offered a castle as part of the settlement. Now, not so much. Think about the name," she looked at her companions expectantly. Anders staggered in.

"What's going on? Is it a party?"

"Yes, Anders," Maude declared. "It's a party—with darkspawn! Listen to this! I know where The Mother is! Back in the old dragon-hunting days, Drake's Fall was one of the prime spots. People came from all over to loot the bones from the dragons and drakes that went there to die."

Loghain was awake now, frowning over the map. "The Lost spoke of a dragon. The site is remote. Perhaps a dragon is indeed living there? Possible, I suppose." He tried to remember what else Avernus had said of the place. There was no longer a Bannorn of Drake's Fall. The title had been extinct before the Rebellion.

Maude gazed at him expectantly. "We should go there right away! We should give The Mother the sort of surprises she enjoys giving us!"

"You're right," Loghain finally agreed. "As soon as we check out this mine, we'll head north, and see if your dower house is currently occupied."

* * *

_Notes: Thanks to my reviewers: Phygmalion, Eva Galana, Josie Lange, Shakespira, Carrington, Duel Soul, mille libri, Enaid Aderyn, Guile, Aoi24, sapphiretoes, Fastforwarmotion, Alpha Cucumber, callalili, Grannaah, Lehni, Jenna53, butterflygrrl, JackOfBladesX, mutive, Ereneviana, Piceron, Zute, Gene Dark, and Lord of Murder._

_Yes, I stole a bit from Stella Gibbons' _Cold Comfort Farm,_ one of my favorite books. I know that Maude would like Flora Poste._

_Sorry for the delay in posting. Out-of-town guests and a family wedding have occupied a great deal of my time for the past few weeks. Also, I sold another story, though this one won't be published until next year._


	25. An Architectural Disaster

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 25: An Architectural Disaster**

"So this elf…" Loghain waved at the scattered weapons on the hill. "This elf accused you of making off with her sister?"

Nathaniel Howe's posture radiated irritation. "Either our party or some trader caravan. She wasn't too clear about that. Some humans kidnapped her sister, so she's randomly attacking all humans."

Maude was picking through the weapons, frowning. She said, "Sometimes Dalish elves have a problem discriminating among humans. I've seen that before. Maybe we all look alike to them. If she wants to find out what happened to her sister, she's certainly going about it in an idiotic way." She kicked at a cheap sword with her boot. "Anything about this pile of junk seem strange to you? Why would warriors throw away usable weapons?"

"My lord!" One of Howe's men trotted up, wide-eyed. "My lord, we found a survivor of the Longleat militia. He says that his troop was attacked by darkspawn, not by elves!"

The man could not be moved, or not by anyone other than Grey Wardens. When they reached him, he was already dying, which was a mercy, since he was infected by Blight, and well on his way to becoming a ghoul. His mind was wandering, but it was clear that something was stirring up trouble between humans and elves, and that something was the darkspawn.

"The Architect would be clever enough, surely, to come up with such a plan," Morrigan said, "'Tis simple enough…but very effective."

Anders was disappointed that he could do no more for the dying man but ease his suffering. "Those weapons we saw—they were collected by the darkspawn and scattered around to make it look to the elves like humans were attacking them."

Maude was unimpressed. "Only someone with a blind hate of humans would be taken in by it. Did that elf woman say anything about darkspawn?"

Nathaniel thought about it. "She knew there were darkspawn in the woods," he said slowly, "but she didn't seem concerned about them. Possibly she was too obsessed with saving her sister from humans to care about them, other than to escape from them, and that trick she had would serve her well."

"Disappearing into the earth?" Anders grinned. "That's a pretty good one! I've never heard of anyone doing that. It must be Dalish magic."

Morrigan huffed. Maude smiled at her sympathetically. Some of the soldiers' description of the Dalish elf mage dwelt more on the woman's skimpy garments and physical attributes than on her magical skills. Loghain refrained from remarking about other mages he had known, who had also run about in revealing costumes. Morrigan's beauty was distracting enough to weak-minded soldiers, even when she was garbed in her superb armor.

"Let's move on to this mine of yours," Loghain grunted to Howe. "It's time to find some answers."

There was plenty of darkspawn spoor, as they moved farther into the woods. Twice they were set upon by small bands. None of them were led by the intelligent, talking darkspawn, but that _any_ darkspawn were concentrated here suggested that they were on the right track.

"This is interesting," Maude remarked, as they rode down the narrow road, trees leaning close to the pathway. "The Wending Wood is full of all sorts of ancient monuments and relics. It would be fun to explore here sometime, when the darkspawn are gone. There are all sorts of statues, that nobody looks at, and nobody knows about. Maybe we should have a statue garden at Soldier's Peak!"

Loghain was silent, so as not to encourage her. She needed none, anyway, because she was already off and dreaming.

"I do hope we can get the arling cleaned up soon. We need to get back to Denerim for the Landsmeet at the beginning of Cloudreach, and then we've got to get the expedition moving at to Soldier's Peak by the end of that month. I've found a very good groundskeeper, with sound ideas about floribundas and grandifloras."

Loghain quirked a smile, suddenly recalling a memory of Celia and her roses. What was it with women and roses? It was fine with him, so as long as Maude didn't expect him to help her with them. He was no good at all with fidgety flowers. The one time Celia had asked him about one of her rose vines, he had killed it with a touch, much to his wife's disappointment and his daughter's amusement. Anora was convinced that he became a great warrior because he was hopeless as a farmer. Not true at all, of course, but there was no convincing a thirteen-year-old know-it-all of that. Roses were perverse, exasperating plants: not respectable, dependable crops like oats and barley. And then, to make it up to his wife, he had brought a new vine all the way from Denerim to Gwaren for her, and the Maker-cursed thing had managed to win first blood against him, even through his armor.

Taking another glance at the map, he said, "That mine of yours isn't far."

"No," Howe agreed. "Up this hill, and a bit east of the main road."

They soon found the mine's imposing entrance. It was guarded by darkspawn.

At Howe's command, the archers loosed a volley, and then another, dropping all but an ogre and a pair of hurlocks.

"Somebody hold my horse!" Maude yelled. She jumped down and ran at the ogre, whooping, a barking dog on either side.

Morrigan had frozen it from horseback, but she and Anders were also dismounted in short order, and coming up to support Maude. Loghain dismounted with more deliberation, and engaged the hurlocks, leaving Maude free to finish off the ogre in her signature style. It would be a good thing for her to show off in front of Howe. He needed to see just how spectacular a fighter Maude was, if only to keep him from getting ridiculous ideas about ever challenging her to a duel over his worthless father.

The ogre, with a last, pained bellow, toppled in a cloud of dust. Maude leaped lightly from its chest, and gave a little saucy bow to the cheering guardsmen up the hill. There was no sign of more darkspawn, so the Wardens moved to the entrance. The huge doors stood open and unbarred.

It was cave-like—or mine-like— in that there were supports and a flight of steps leading down from the entrance to a big cavern. Loghain breathed in the air cautiously, not sensing any darkspawn close by.

As they were comfortable underground, Sigrun and Oghren joined Maude and Anders in poking about. Down a flight of rickety stairs they found some abandoned scrolls, confirming that dwarves had mined here. The dogs milled about, not liking this place.

"Oh, go chase rabbits!" Maude told them. "We're going to be organizing our party for a bit."

So they gratefully ran outside, chasing each other and begging treats from softhearted soldiers.

Morrigan scowled at them all, and went to gather blood lotus, not willing to go underground until she absolutely must.

Loghain stood at the mine entrance with Howe, discussing which of his men would be going in with them, and who would be guarding their camp. The sliding, crashing noise from below was muffled enough that it did register at first, until a soldier came running up the passage shouting, "Cave-in!"

He was briefly annoyed that they had not brought some of the dwarf stoneworkers from the Vigil, until he descended to the site and found out what had actually happened. It was a disaster.

"They'd gone ahead-just a little way, my lord—and your lady was saying to the mage that the darkspawn had been there and gone, when the roof of the tunnel gave in. It's blocked the tunnel. And the lady and the mage and the dwarf Wardens are on the other side!"

Morrigan rushed at the man, eyes blazing in wrath. "Are they under the rock? Did you hear them call?

"No, Warden!" The man quailed before her. "I don't know! When the rock fall started, it looked like it was just coming from one spot, so perhaps it did not collapse all the way down the tunnel."

Loghain was already pushing men out of his way, running down the steps, the dogs barking after him. Howe was at his heels. Morrigan moved as only mages can move, too fast to be seen, for she was already at the pile of boulders when they arrived.

"I can feel them!" she shouted at Loghain, as if it were all his fault. "I can _feel_ them. They are not dead! Have these fools move the rocks out of the way!"

That was obviously what needed to be done. Some of the men looked nervously at the ceiling, expecting another cave-in, but it all looked sound to Loghain. It raised a possibility that filled him with dread.

"How odd that the roof should collapse just as this choke point in the tunnel," he remarked.

"A trap?" Howe said, his keen grey eyes taking in the idea.

"A trap!" shouted Morrigan. "I shall _kill_ Anders for such strutting recklessness! One expects this kind of folly from Maude, and it always turns out well for her, but not always for those in her company!"

"Is there any other entrance to the mine?" Loghain asked Howe.

"None that I know of," said the younger man, shaking his head.

Loghain wondered uneasily if this mine, like Vigil's Keep, had also been accessed by the darkspawn from the Deep Roads. A connecting passage to the Deep Roads was in fact probable, and would explain why the darkspawn were making use of it as their headquarters. Such a trap inevitably suggested a talking darkspawn—perhaps the Architect himself.

Ranger pawed and whined at the rocks. Loghain ordered the dogs to sit in a corner, out of the way, while the men were organized to clear the rubble. It was going to take some time.

Loghain cursed himself again for not bringing the stoneworkers. The only dwarves in the party were the trader Bodahn Feddic and his half-witted son Sandal. Some soldiers, with implicit trust in the wisdom of dwarves when underground, had run to fetch them. Bodahn looked baffled at first, but surface dwarf as he was, he still understood stone better than any human. And Sandal only beamed.

"Enchantment!" he proclaimed, gazing at the ceiling, just where it had given way.

"The boy's right," agreed Bodahn. "See that? That was made to collapse. There's probably a trigger a bit beyond. Meant to fall once someone had passed it. That's deliberate, all right. Clever, too. I don't think even a dwarf would have spotted it."

Even more distressing, the blood sense of other Wardens was fading. Loghain froze, wondering for a moment if he was feeling Maude dying, and knew there were thoughts simply beyond his endurance. Morrigan snarled, "They are being taken away! They have been captured!"

He was in command, and there were things that he could do. Loghain saw to the organization of the men removing the stones, and considered what was best to do at this point.

"We need expert help," he told Howe brusquely. "Someone must go and fetch Voldrik and his men. That mad brother of Voldrik's, too. We may have to blast some of this stone away."

"I shall go," Morrigan said instantly. "I can reach the castle more quickly than any of you. I cannot wait for one of your yokels to dawdle along. Give me a written order, so that no man can say me nay." She thought a little more. "But let it be small enough to tie to me without hindrance."

Howe stared at her, at first not quite understanding, and then looking awed and a bit intimidated. Loghain immediately had Sandal fetch him parchment and ink, and set to writing. Once out of the cave, Morrigan transformed, and Loghain tied the note to her leg, wincing as she pecked him in her impatience.

"Be off with you, then," he said roughly, "and see to it that no archer brings you down!"

She pecked at him again, and was aloft in a flurry of beating wings. In seconds, she was a tiny dot, vanishing into the northern sky.

"She will be at the Vigil in a little over an hour," Loghain predicted. "For the stoneworkers to reach us, however…"

"They may be here by nightfall," Nathaniel said, with optimism unusual for him. "With lanterns and torches, they can work all night."

"So can we," Loghain agreed, and prepared himself for a very long day.

* * *

Morrigan returned in the early afternoon, pale with nervous exhaustion. "They are coming. The Arlessa herself bade them hurry. They have a team of workmen and tools, but can only move as fast as their ridiculous oxen."

Most of the stone was gone, and with a little more work, they would be about to climb through the rock fall. Loghain threw a torch through the opening, and peered into the flickering yellow light.

"It looks like the obstruction is not very deep."

They kept working, moving the stones carefully, laboriously piling them in an alcove near the entrance. Eventually, they had cleared enough for men to get through.

"I'll go first, Warden-Commander," Howe said, "Allow me."

Loghain did not like it, but let Nathaniel have his way. It was a gesture of interest in Maude's well-being, and Loghain felt he ought not to hinder that. A reconciliation would be a good thing for everyone.

Very soon, Nathaniel was back, looking grim.

"Past the rockfall, the tunnel is clear. But there is a turn to the right about twenty feet on, and beyond it are a pair of huge metal doors. They are locked, and appear to be barred as well."

They cleared the rest of the debris, and moved up the tunnel. The doors were just as large and impregnable as Howe had indicated. Morrigan cast spells and curses at them. Fire and ice had little effect, and lightning chipped away tiny shards of rock framing the doors. A concussive spell shattered only a little more. Still, that was something. Morrigan persisted in her spells, and when she needed rest, some of the men used picks to chip further away at the stone.

Hard stone, and harder metal: it was a long and frustrating afternoon. Loghain was on edge, and made himself silent rather than to uselessly snap at people. As the shadows lengthened, the Glavonak brothers arrived, and hope returned to the expedition.

* * *

Dworkin's explosives made all the difference. They began blasting almost as soon as they arrived, and when not blasting, the dwarven masons chiseled into the stone supported the metal doors. The doors were nearly impregnable: the stone was not. Loghain forced himself to remain stoically impassive as the hours passed, and Maker only knew what was happening to Maude.

Morrigan was too agitated to remain in human form. She fluttered up into the trees for awhile, impressing the guardsmen and Nathaniel Howe's archers, and then, bored with that, she transformed into a wolf, and led the dogs on a lengthy chase through the Woods.

Maude was not alone, Loghain reminded himself. Anders was there, and Sigrun and Oghren as well. They were all superb fighters. Maude was supremely clever and resourceful.

None of those reflections made him feel the least bit better. He was briefly amused when the dogs began barking and growling loudly at Howe, who had said something about Maude to his second.

"Enough!" Loghain shouted. Morrigan and the dogs trotted back to him. Loghain flashed Howe a grim look of rebuke. After a while, the young man came over to apologize.

"I can't believe Maude won't wriggle out of this," Nathaniel said frankly. "She's been in constant danger for the past two years and she's always come out smelling like a rose. I know the dogs didn't care for me saying she has more lives than a cat, but it's perfectly true. Considering all the things she survived when we were children, she must have more lives than a half-dozen cats!"

Loghain only nodded, not wanting to tell Howe that in the days when he and Maude had been at odds, he had thought her harder to kill than a cockroach, and had said as much to Nathaniel's father.

"It's moving! The door's moving!" Voldrik shouted. "Get those levers in there."

Loghain lent a hand himself, and after a moment, so did Nathaniel Howe. Stone cracked a little more. They backed away, another round of explosives was detonated, and when next the levers were applied, the doors fell inward with a crash. The dogs howled and dashed forward, paws scrabbling on stone.

"Heel, damn you!" Loghain roared, not wanting the hounds to go haring off on their own. To his exasperation, about thirty yards down the passage there was a twist in the pathway, and they found themselves confronted by another set of barred doors.

These, however, were far smaller and thinner, and they set to work, chiseling into the stone surrounding them. During a pause, a mason gave a shout.

"I hear tapping on the other side! I think someone's trying to raise the bar!"

Loghain's heart leaped. Who could it be but Maude? Who else could escape from an underground maze guarded by darkspawn? Who else was so intrepid, so dauntless, so invincible?

He pounded on the doors, shouting, "Maude! Is that you?"

_Bang!_ Something slammed against the door, just by his ear. He winced, and then found himself near to weeping at the sound of her faint voice, calling, "It's me! Hold on—this bar is a bugger to lift!"

Scraping was followed by muffled curses and orders. Something heavy was lifted and then crashed to the floor.

"That's it!" yelled Voldrik. He shouted through the door. "Get back! We going to force the door."

Eager hands pushed, and a ragged cheer went up as the doors yielded at last, pushing the heavy iron bar out of the way. Past the doors was a huge chamber, ornately carved. This was no mine—or no mine like any that Loghain had ever seen. The vaulted ceiling was shrouded in darkness. On the polished granite floor lay the corpses of two dragons. Some of the soldiers swore and exclaimed at the sight. The dogs knocked men aside, baying like thunder.

Maude dashed forward, her dirty face alight, and Loghain swept her up in his arms, kissing her in front of everyone, not giving darkspawn's arse who was looking and commenting. She tasted of elfroot and blood and the individual sweetness that was Maude. Their armor banged and creaked, but he could not let her go. The dogs bounded and yipped. Ranger stood up on his hind legs and put his paws on a metal pauldron, licking Maude's filthy, rosy cheek. She laughed.

Loghain glanced past her rumpled hair and saw Anders, weary but alive, grinning at a fuming, distressed Morrigan, Sigrun was with him, helping Anders with a wounded man.

Who was not Oghren. The dwarf was already among them. "All right!" he bellowed. "Who's got something to drink? And I don't mean water!"

Laughter and cheers, and the bolder of the men started forward, wanting to peer at the only dragons most of them had ever seen close to. There were eager questions and considerable excitement. One of the men ran up the steps to find the wagons and a keg of ale.

"Are you all right?" Loghain hissed at his dear, crazy, exasperating girl.

"Never better!" She told him. "I met the Architect, and he's a complete slime! Pretty stupid too, but in a really annoying way… I'll tell you later. Anyway, I want you to meet Keenan. He's a Warden, and we found him!"

Loghain, after a moment's thought, recognized the name: one of the Fereldans whom Kristoff and his Orlesian Wardens had recruited. He was a youngish man in decent leathers, pale from what Loghain guessed must be hunger and wounds.

"Keenan," he said, gripping the man's forearm, receiving a wan, relieved smile in return.

"Warden-Commander, I never expected to leave this place alive."

"I _told_ you," Maude said, "I _told _you we were going to be all right. You need to learn to trust me when I tell you what's going to happen." She waved, and reached out a hand, "Hello, Morrigan! I brought back Anders, safe and sound!"

Howe was shouting questions, so Maude let out a ear-splitting whistle and declared: "Yes, we were taken prisoner by the darkspawn! We escaped from our cell and fought our way out. As far as I know there are no darkspawn left in the mine, for their leader fled after setting the dragons on us."

"You killed two dragons!" one young man said breathlessly, goggling at Maude.

"Yes!" she assured him cheerfully. "We killed two dragons. The darkspawn were breeding them, and somehow had found a way not to Taint them. We found a nest with eggs and dragonlings and two drakes. We killed them, too. I daresay there will be dragonwing, dragonscale, and dragonbone for everyone in this outfit!"

More cheers. Maude hugged Loghain again, whispered. "And heaps of loot, glorious loot! And some of the Architect's notes! Oh, I _have_ had an exciting time!"

He had not seen her so happy in months. But she had been in command, and had relied on her own wits and sword arm. That always seemed to agree with her.

Some of the men were detailed to work on processing the dead dragons. Skinning a dragon was not as simple as dealing with an ox or a sheep. Maude could give them tips about that, and was also preparing to lead a party deep into the winding passages beyond the mine—which included an elaborate underground living complex of uncertain age and provenance, and did indeed seem to be connected to the Deep Roads.

"I'd really like some fresh air," Anders said wearily, "and I want Keenan to get off his feet and let his legs heal."

"I daresay," Morrigan snapped, "and you need a bath. You smell like a ghoul!"

Anders managed a smile, and directed some of the men to help Keenan up the stairs. He followed, looking noticeably tired.

"Not his fault!" Oghren boomed. "Hell, we all smell like ghouls! The darkspawn stole our junk. We caught some ghouls with it and got it back, but they were wearing it, and got their ghoul-stink all over everythng!"

"True." Maude made a face. "It was creepy seeing those things dressed up as us. But we killed them."

"Haw!" agreed Oghren. "Nobody touches Oghren's junk and lives!"

"I was just happy to get my things back," Sigrun said, much calmer about it all. "It's really hard to find armor that fits."

"Well," Maude declared, "now we'll see to it that you have the spiffiest of custom armor, courtesy of our friend the Architect!"

Nathaniel had been listening in silence. "So this Architect…is the leader of these talking darkspawn?"

"More or less," Maude said. "It's not clear to me how much control he can really exercise over the regular darkspawn. Oh—and by the way, Nathaniel, we met your crazy elf mage. She was locked up with us."

Oghren cackled. "And she and Maude did _not_ get along. Cat-fight!"

Some of the soldiers looked very interested at that, and leaned closer.

"We did not have a 'cat-fight,' as you put it!" Maude denied. "If we had, I would have nailed her hide to the wall. She was terribly, terribly annoying, and pretty much off her head. She was tracking her sister and wandered into the mine. She was caught, of course, and the Architect had locked us in the same cell with her. Which was unpleasant, because she kept ragging on us, and had a voice that could bend metal. You would have _hated_ her, Morrigan. And she was rude to Keenan, when he was practically lying there _dying!"_ She waved at the keg of ale Oghren had commandeered, and asked, "Can I have some of that?"

After taking a long drink, she wiped her mouth and went on. "So there we are in the cell, expressing our opinions of each other, when who should show up but the missing sister! Her name is Seranni, and I'll never forget it, because Velanna's voice will forever shrill it in my memory. Anyway, here comes the sister—"

"A real looker, for a ghoul," Oghren said, with a wink.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "You are disgusting," she declared. "I am going to see to Anders. He will tell me the tale without your horrible commentary." She sneered, and hurried up the steps.

After she had gone, Maude shook her head, grinning. "Yes, she must have been lovely, but she was quite hopelessly Tainted. Too late for _anything_ to help her," she added, giving Loghain the "you-know-what-I-mean" look. "Seranni had the key to the cell and passed it to her sister, so I took it and tried to question her. She told us we could get our things back if we were clever and quiet, but she ran away, with Velanna shrieking after her. I told her that her sister was a lost cause, but that's not what she wanted to hear."

"You had the key. You were able to escape. What then?" asked Loghain.

"Well! We found the Architect's nasty workroom full of human bodies, and we found some of his notes and books. We had to fight our way through, but none of his talking fellows were down there. We found the dragon nest and a few tough darkspawn, but nothing we couldn't handle. We found Keenan, and Anders took some time trying to put him right. Keenan wanted us to leave him and save ourselves, but I wasn't having that. Anders did enough to get him on his feet after a fashion, and Keenan could still use a bow, so we went on. That dragonbreeding darkspawn was the one who had smashed Keenan's legs and stole his wedding ring, but we got that back, of course. Keenan's wife is in Amaranthine. We'll have to look her up and bring her back to the Vigil. _Anyway._ We found the Architect's private rooms." She looked at Loghain with the oddest expression. "I want you to think about this… The Architect has private rooms. With a desk. And bookshelves. And most awfully creepy of all, a bed he _sleeps_ in. Who ever heard of a darkspawn sleeping in a _bed?_ He's like an awful mockery of a real person."

Sigrun added, "And just as we thought we were about to get away, we walked into this huge place and saw the Architect standing up there—" she pointed, "-with the elf girl and a Tainted dwarf woman, and then the dragons appeared."

"—So we killed the dragons, and the Architect watched, and when we'd killed them, Velanna started shrieking at her sister again, so the Architect took her along with him and the other woman. He collapsed the wall to cover his escape. At least as far as that Velanna is concerned, it was good riddance. She was so _obnoxious!"_

Howe frowned. "So she escaped justice—again. Did she understand that those traders she murdered were innocent?"

"Yes," Maude answered candidly. "She certainly did, after I explained how the darkspawn tricked her. Not that she cared."

Oghren snorted, "When I asked her how she felt about it, she said it made her 'warm and fuzzy.' Thought Maude would kill her."

"No," Maude shook her head. "She was useful, when we were escaping. And running off with the Architect assures her a fate infinitely worse than hanging."

"You don't think—" Loghain felt only disgust. "She will be made a Broodmother, do you suppose?" Howe's eyes widened with horror.

"Probably." Maude's brows knit in a scowl. "Or the Architect will use her for more experiments. If I hadn't been so busy at the moment, I would have told Keenan to shoot her. It would have been for the best."

* * *

Sigrun was very proud of her clean, wet hair. Maude had bundled her own into a wet braid, for she had much to share and discuss, and the Wardens walked some distance from from the camp to a private place to learn more about recent events. Anders was still concerned about Keenan's knees, but the young Warden wanted to be a part of any debriefing about the Architect. He was helped along and comfortably settled against a tree. Almost immediately, his eyelids drooped with all the potions Anders had given him.

"Poor sod," Oghren said. "He's been through hell."

Sigrun nodded, understanding. "He was the only survivor. I know what that's like."

"Will he be able to fight?" Loghain asked Anders.

"After a week or two. That dragon-taming darkspawn really did a number on his legs. I want him to be thoroughly healed and rested before he tries anything strenuous—or _dangerous,"_ he said pointedly.

"Still," Morrigan shrugged, "he is another warm body, and that he survived when others did not suggests some reserves of strength and resource. Even if he is a complete fool, he may not be utterly useless."

Loghain thought that was just about the kindest assessment that Morrigan had ever granted anyone. She must be in a good mood about the rescue of Anders. He nodded at Maude to give the report.

"I'll start from the beginning," Maude said, "and the rest of you can join in as you like. Yes, we met the Architect, and that was extremely interesting. We need to go back into the mine and clear out all of his things. I carried out his notebook and some loose pages, but there's a lot more in there to study. We were put under some sort of sleep spell right after we were trapped by the rock fall. I was out for some time, but I woke up briefly, lying naked on a an examining table of some sort, with that fucking idiot Architect talking to me in what he must think is a soothing voice. I wanted to kill him then and there, but I couldn't move. He told me he was not my enemy, and that we had much to discuss. When I next awakened I was in a cell, and dressed in rags that stank like ghoul."

"We all woke up in the cell," Sigrun piped up. "They weren't such _terrible_ clothes—"

Maude glared. "The Architect removed _all my clothes and dressed me,_ which is enough to condemn him to a horrible death—"

Oghren chuckled. "—or he had his elf tootsie do it for him—that's the theory I like."

Anders snorted and shook his head. "She was a ghoul, you pervert!"

"Elf—what?" Loghain managed..

"I'm getting to that," Maude said impatiently. "First of all, the Architect is a mage, yes, and he certainly looks more human than any darkspawn I've ever met. I've toyed with the idea that he's a diseased Warden of some sort, but I really don't think so. He doesn't think like a human at all. While there's quite an intellect there, he's so ignorant of human behavior that I don't think he even understands why I want to kill him. And the way he uses words…they don't mean what he thinks they mean. Like saying he's not my enemy, and then stealing my arms and armor and setting darkspawn and dragons on us. And experimenting on me…I think. Not to mention what he let his pets do to Keenan and the other Wardens he captured."

"What kind of …experiments?" Loghain demanded, his voice terrible.

"Not sure. I think he might have taken some blood from me," Maude said, "but he healed whatever he did before I awakened in the cell, so it's hard to be certain. He's trying to change the darkspawn, though, and he's really interested in Warden blood. I found some notes of his. Something about blood being "the key."

Morrigan burst out, "I wish Avernus were here! He would have grasped what this creature is after, if anyone could."

"So do I," Maude said frankly. "I thought the same thing, once we escaped the cell and found his workroom. Lots of dead human bodies littering the place. We'll have to clean them up and burn them, of course. His workroom was a little like Avernus' actually—all full of books and interesting gadgets. Avernus was interested in Warden blood, too..." Her voice drifted, and then she returned to her story. "So we fought our way through, and had quite a time with two dragons at once. It was odd, really, that there were so few darkspawn down there, and none at all of his clever ones. Maybe they've all gone over to The Mother, like The Lost and The First. As far as I can see, he doesn't command a significant force—"

Oghren remarked, "—or maybe they were wiped out at Kal'Hirol."

"That's possible!" Sigrun said excitedly. "We saw them fighting. Maybe most of them were killed."

"That's possible," Maude agreed. "I can't see the Architect knowing beans about tactics or strategy. His talking darkspawn are just clever enough to set an ambush, but once they do it's all full-out running at the enemy, waving swords. Darkspawn are a blunt instrument, at best. Yes, I do think it's possible he was hiding out here. Another reason it's important that we collect or destroy everything he had here. We won't find him until he pokes his head out of cover again. We'd do better to hunt down The Mother. The Architect is a spent force for now, I think. Of course," she added sourly, "he took his _women_ with him, which is totally vomitous, and now he has one more, with that awful Velanna..."

"Now, now," Anders soothed her.

"Oh, come on, sparklefingers," Oghren rumbled, "she had a chip on her shoulder the size of a Paragon's statue! She would have butted heads with every one of us twenty times a day! Heh-heh…not that it wouldn't have been fun watch her and Morrigan get into it… Scary, but fun."

Morrigan said coldly, "We would have 'got into it' but once, I assure you!"

Loghain cocked an eyebrow at Maude. "You did not choose to use your 'legendary charm' on her?"

"No!" Maude replied, very cross. "I did not choose to do so. We don't need her. I'm _sick_ of being charming to people who disgust me. If I see her again, I'm going to kill her." Annoyed, she walked away and threw a stick for the dogs.

"Well!" Morrigan exclaimed, surprised and amused. "This elf truly did rub Maude the wrong way!"

"No kidding!" laughed Oghren. "I have never, in all the time I've known Maude, heard her tell someone to 'shut the fuck up!' She's always been pretty nice…tactful, even. That Velanna really put a stone in her boot."

Sigrun said, "I haven't known her very long, but I think Maude _is_ nice. That's why what Velanna said to Keenan—when we all thought he was dying—got her so angry." She lowered her voice and the rest of them leaned in. "Keenan wanted her to take his wedding ring to his wife, and tell her he became a Warden because he wanted to make the world a better place. And Velanna said _out loud_ that that was the most insipid thing she'd ever heard. And then Maude said what she said—"

_"'Shut the fuck up!'" _ Oghren guffawed. "I can't get over it! It was great..."

Sigrun punched Oghren lightly. "—and if she hadn't been helping Anders with Keenan, I think she would have stuck her with a knife then and there."

Morrigan considered it all. "I think," she said slowly, "that this has been coming for a long time. That foolish elf was simply the last straw."

Loghain looked after Maude's retreating figure, her stiff shoulders, her defiantly lifted chin. Morrigan, alas, was probably right. The elf had pushed her too far. And being in Amaranthine was no help at all.

* * *

They would have quite a feast that night. Mature drakes and dragons, Maude told the men they traveled with, were inedible; but young dragonlings could be very, very tasty.

"Like chicken," she declared, "only better. I _promise,"_ she insisted, amused at Howe's expression.

"'Tis true," Morrigan agreed. "we had little else to eat in the Frostbacks. One might eat deepstalker in the Deep Roads simply to avoid starving, but dragonling is actually quite toothsome, if one is careful, when gutting the beasts, not to nick the fire glands or the second stomach."

And thus, five of the little creatures were dragged from the tunnels, and when dressed and skinned, each had more usable meat than a veal calf. Soldiers saw them spitted and browning over the campfires, and shook their heads in wonder. The skins, too, seemed well worth tanning: if not for armor, then for delicate leather goods.

"Like corsets," Maude decided. "I think I'd like a dragonling corset, in its own natural lavender color. It would be very pretty. And a pair of dancing slippers. And a little shoulder cape. And boots. And a pair of gloves..."

* * *

"Admit it," Maude demanded. "It tastes just like chicken." She popped another morsel of dragonling into her mouth, and savored it slowly.

"No," Loghain replied, to her great indignation. "It's better than chicken. A_ lot_ better. No wonder the Nevarrans nearly hunted dragons out of existence."

He was seconded by grunts of agreement and repletion around the Wardens' campfire. Keenan was smiling faintly, drowsy and out of pain. Even the dogs had had all they could possibly eat for once.

"Yup," rumbled Oghren, "this is prime stuff. Ought to go into dragon farming ourselves. Make it a sideline of Wardening, up there at the Peak. Dragons like mountains."

Sigrun, a little tipsy, giggled. _"Dragon_ farming."

Maude narrowed her eyes, thinking it over. "You know, it's not impossible…"

_"Maker!"_ Loghain groaned.

"—No, Loghain, I can see how we could do it. Dragons aren't all that stupid. They get along with people they know. Those crazy dragon cult people got a High Dragon to get along with them. They could talk to her, and she seemed to understand them all right. The drakes would attack on command. And even the darkspawn managed to get some dragon-raising going. If a darkspawn can do it," she declared, a bit drunkenly, "_I_ can do it!"

"Hear, hear!" Anders lifted his mug in salute.

"In fact," Maude said, her eyes glowing with what she might think a Good Idea, but which Loghain identified as total insanity, "maybe if we hand-raised some dragons, we could _ride_ on them, the way the old-time Wardens rode griffons!"

"Ride…in the sky?" Sigrun quavered.

"Yes!" Maude nearly burst with excitement. "think of it! We raise the dragons from the time they're hatchlings, and make friends with them. We could make special harness just like for horses, only bigger, and ride them places. That would be utterly fantastic!"

Keenan stared at her, rather dazzled. "You certainly know how to think big, Senior Warden."

Maude patted his hand. "Call me Maude, Keenan. Yes, I do. Thinking small never got me anywhere! I'd love to ride a dragon!"

"Dunno," Oghren grunted, spearing another slice of dragochicken, "I'd rather eat them, myself, but that's just me."

"We'd have to choose," Anders pointed out, with drunken gravity. "You can't eat them and also make friends with them. Doesn't work that way. Just like dogs."

Topaz whined, and cocked her head.

"I see what you mean," Maude nodded sagely, "Don't worry, sweet girl. Anders means that once you make friends you can't possibly eat someone. Simply not done. Just like nobody would eat a dog, because we love you so much."

Ranger yipped agreement, and Topaz was mollified, coming over to Loghain to put her head on his knee.

Loghain had decided that it was just about time to appropriately celebrate his silly girl's escape from the Architect. "Maude," he said gently, "I seem to recall an episode of dragonriding that didn't quite work out as planned. Didn't Riordan nearly fall to his death—"

"It's as different as chalk and cheese!" Maude cut him off instantly. "Riordan hadn't made _friends_ with the Archdemon. Really, nobody could…but that's not the point. Old Gods would not be suitable because they're so bloody full of themselves, but a nice sensible dragon, raised by decent people, might become quite decent herself. It would be such fun to fly. Morrigan, isn't it gorgeous to fly?"

The witch hardly heeded her, as she was lounging comfortably against Anders, studying him with smoldering eyes. "Gorgeous…"

"There!" Maude pointed at her friend triumphantly. "You see! And she's an expert flier herself! She could give us all sorts of advice!"

Loghain staggered up, tugging at Maude's hand. "Enough of this madness! We're going to bed."

Cheers and drunken catcalls followed them away from the campfire.

"You're gonna ride a dragon tonight, Maude!" Oghren cackled.

"Oghren, you are such a pig!" Anders told him, throwing a rib at him. Oghren grabbed it in mid-flight.

"Hey, there's still meat on this one. Thanks!"

Maude laughed a little wildly, and pulled Loghain into their tent, her clever fingers busy with his laces. "Maybe _you're_ the one who's going to ride a dragon..."

He took her in his arms, grinding urgently against her. He had never told her—never told anyone—what he had experienced on the top of Fort Drakon, when just for an instant he had been an Old God. Something of that intoxication heated his blood once more. He kissed her hungrily and tore at her clothes in angry rapture, not even bothering with his boots. Making love on a cot—even a wide one—was a tricky business. His fingers slid up inside her, eliciting a startled, yearning cry. Without further ceremony, he eased her back onto the cot, and settled himself on her, kneeing her legs apart, clutching her close.

Voice husky, he croaked, "I thought I'd lost you."

"Never," she whispered back, and then gasped as he thrust into her. "You'll never lose me. And I will never let you go." She wrapped her legs around him, urging him on.

He gave himself up to desire, falling into a steady and commanding rhythm, like the beat of powerful wings. The voices outside faded into nothing. Maude's soft moans became the sweet night wind above the mountains, under clear skies and eternal stars. They soared together, and together found their way home.

* * *

_Thank you to my reviewers: Menamebephil, Aoi24, Sarah1281, Josie Lange, Zute, Phygmalion, mutive, Persephone Chiara, Enaid Aderyn, Kira Kyuuketsuki, Judy, JackOfBladesX, Shakespira, Amhran Comhrac, Juliafied, Lehni, Gene Dark, mille libri, and Iapetus._

_I decided that Velanna had to go along with Seranni. If the Architect thought her worth capturing once, he would probably think it worthwhile to capture her again. That he doesn't simply seems game mechanics to me. I could think of no way that she would not be immediately executed by Nathaniel Howe for the murders of the traders, and there's no way that Loghain or Maude would conscript her. Furthermore, since she had already escaped from Howe once, he would have killed her on the spot to keep her from escaping again._


	26. Darkspawn Never Drink Wine

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 26: Darkspawn Never Drink Wine  
**

They needed to hunt down the Mother, and as soon as possible.

It was a thoughtful, preoccupied caravan that returned to Vigil's Keep in a driving, chilly rain. Keenan lay in the back of Bodahn's wagon, and Sigrun drove part of the way, chatting with their convalescent Warden in her cheerful manner. It seemed to do him good. He was still suffering from the horror of captivity, from torture and near-mortal wounds, from the anguish of seeing his comrades-in-arms put to death in various cruel ways. Anders felt that rest and the company of fellow Wardens were the best things for him at the moment.

"We should fetch his wife to him, too," Anders told Loghain quietly. "He's recovering physically pretty quickly—well, he's a Warden, after all. But everything else…his wife could make all the difference."

They clattered over a new wooden bridge, constructed over a deep ditch which now surrounded the Vigil. With the underground passage into the dungeons now sealed, any force would have to attack the Vigil on the surface. The castle guard was recruiting vigorously, and the new ditch, barbed with abbatis and filled with traps, would significantly hinder even an ogre. In the heavy rain, it was filling with water, which would serve to conceal the traps from an enemy.

"It might be an idea to find a way to keep it filled," Nathaniel remarked to Loghain. "A moat is an even better barrier than a mere ditch. The Prince of Markham has a moat around his citadel. It's pretty effective."

The ditch was not all the dwarven engineer Voldrik had conceived. New gates, reinforced with silverite, were ready to be hung at the outer wall and in the inner courtyard. Voldrik hoped to sheathe the entire curtain wall with granite, but that would be a tremendous undertaking.

Delilah greeted them, glad to see them all alive. She looked pale and harassed, after a visit the day before from some of her more obstreperous nobles. To Loghain's relief, they had all gone home early that morning.

"Bann Esmerelle does not seem to be able to get a handle on the smuggling situation in the city," she told them. "The arling is losing significant revenue. She was being very difficult, telling me she hasn't enough men to track down the smugglers and guard the city against the darkspawn. She said—" Delilah broke off, grimacing.

Loghain snorted, picturing it all too clearly. "She wondered why the Wardens weren't doing more, and said that she shouldn't be expected to patrol the entire Amaranthine coastline. Then she claimed that Banns Hocking and Egbert weren't doing their part, and that the smuggled goods were probably coming in through their lands."

Delilah laughed wryly. "I see you know our Fereldan banns too well!"

Nathaniel shifted restlessly. "I should go to Amaranthine myself and have a look about. I can't believe that someone as clever as Bann Esmerelle can't stop the smugglers. It's more likely that she's taking a percentage from them."

Maude was in cheerful agreement. "I daresay you're absolutely right. I wish we could go to Amaranthine, Loghain, and fetch Keenan's wife to him. And possibly poor Aura is there, too. They shouldn't have to try to make their way to Vigil's Keep on their own."

"Oh!" Delilah recalled the name. "Aura. She is Warden Kristoff's wife, is she not? He mentioned her to me. How terribly sad, to come all the way from Orlais, only to find that her husband is dead."

Loghain grunted and changed the subject. "Voldrik's improvements are coming along quite well. I was pleased to see so much progress."

Delilah smiled at him, eyes luminous. "Yes. I'm so grateful to you for your generosity. Who knows when we could have managed otherwise?"

Maude smiled tightly, as she always did when a woman paid Loghain what she considered too much particular attention. "Anyway, keep doing what you're doing. It's a good thing that you're going to Amaranthine, Nathaniel. While you're there, you should take a look at the defenses there, too. We have reason to believe that the darkspawn have been increasing in numbers, and we're not sure what they intend."

Nathaniel frowned, worried. "You destroyed those Broodmother creatures in Kal'Hirol."

Loghain gave them the bad news. "We have learned of another Broodmother—this one intelligent and far more dangerous. We believe her to be located at Drake's Fall."

"Right!" Nathaniel gave Maude a raking look. "I remember you yelling about it in the middle of the night, and waking the entire camp. I thought you were having a nightmare."

"That, too," Maude said flatly. "Unfortunately, based on our information, it really does appear that this creature is leading some of the darkspawn. The speaking ones refer to her as the Mother, and she is clever enough to plan ambushes, at the very least."

Delilah face was pinched with horror. "Nathaniel told me something of these pitiful creatures. This Mother you speak of must once have been a human woman. I thought that captives of the darkspawn soon lost their minds."

"Oh, I think the Mother is totally and completely crazy," Maude assured her. "However, this Architect is a meddler. He appears to have found a way to give the darkspawn—and their ghouls, too, some measure of intelligence, if not sanity. Whatever he did to this creature, it's turned her against him, and she's apparently leading the forces that oppose him. We've been caught in the middle."

"As soon as possible, we are moving against the Mother," Loghain told them. "We have no idea what kind of numbers she's built up in Drake's Fall. We'll need whatever forces you can spare."

He had considered sending a message to Denerim, asking for royal troops, but had discarded the idea. Royal troops were thin on the ground, and would be needed to protect the city itself. Besides, the last thing Alistair would want would be to protect Amaranthine…or to assist Loghain himself, if the truth were known. Maude had not brought it up, which showed how unlikely she thought help from that quarter. Highever had no troops to spare and were days away—and in the wrong direction, anyhow. They would have to deal with this on their own.

And they simply did not know what kind of forces the Mother commanded. The Architect's troops had been rather small in number. They had no idea how quickly a broodmother could produce offspring.  
"After all," Maude considered. "She must be a fairly young Broodmother. I suspect she was captured and changed sometime after the Battle of Denerim. That means she can't have been a broodmother for much more than six months. We've seen broodmothers, and they're not popping out a darkspawn every minute, after all. Even if she produces a darkspawn or two a day, that would only mean a few hundred—say three hundred- at most."

Nathaniel and Delilah looked horrified. "Three hundred darkspawn marching on the Vigil!" Nathaniel exclaimed. "That would—would—"

"—Be a significant—perhaps overwhelming threat, if not for your improvements," Loghain said. "Though we must not forget those strange new darkspawn she's been producing. There may be more of those." He told the Howes, "they look like large grubs, for the most part. When they mature, they are like man-sized insects. They take quite a bit of killing, but they do not wear armor or use weapons. If anyone sees large eggs—" he gestured with his arms to give them an idea of the size "—they need to be destroyed with fire."

They discussed their plans for some time. Nathaniel would go to Amaranthine, access the defenses, and look into the smuggling problem.

"I can escort the ladies back to the Vigil, if they wish," he offered. "Though Kristoff's wife may wish to go home to Orlais."

"Keenan should go with you," Maude suggested. "He'll want to see his wife, and break the news to poor Aura himself. I found some keepsakes of Kristoff's that she'll want to have. Besides, it might be a good idea to have a Warden with you, in case darkspawn are sneaking about. The rest of us are off to Drake's Fall."

It seemed a perfectly good plan at the time. Unfortunately, the news they received just before dawn made it obsolete. A pounding on his door woke Loghain from a restless sleep. It was followed by Nathaniel's shouts.

"The darkspawn are marching on the city of Amaranthine!"

* * *

Loghain nearly laughed at the look on Sigrun's face.

"You're not going to make me ride a horse, are you?"

"Yes," Maude said firmly. "You are going to ride a horse. We have got to get to Amaranthine as quickly as possibly. The mages can cast Haste on the horses and dogs, and we can be there in an hour. Here, Oghren! Give Sigrun a boost. You'll ride behind me, Sigrun! Hold tight to me and grip the horse with your legs. It's going to be fine as long as you don't let go!"

Delilah kissed Nathaniel goodbye. He was reluctant to strip the Vigil of all its defenders, and so took his archers and three dozen footsoldiers. Loghain's own guardsmen would also join the battle. These reinforcements would follow the Wardens, and be at the city walls in four hours, or perhaps less. They were a formidable force, and if Amaranthine could hold out for half a day, they might well be enough to tip the balance.

Loghain looked over his Wardens, and wished he had recruited more. He wished he had not left Shale in Orzammar. He wished he had sent a message to Anora, telling her how bad the situation in the arling was. No time now for regrets now. The nine of them would have to do until Nathaniel arrived with his reinforcements. Keenan, at least, looked fit enough, though the scars on his legs seemed to be permanent. No matter.

They galloped through the outer gateway. The dwarves were up and busy, working double crews to finish the placement of the strong new gates. They might well be needed.

It was not long before they found themselves passing horses, wagons, carts, travelers on foot: all running the other way.

"Darkspawn!" one fellow wailed at them, wild-eyed. "The darkspawn have taken the city!"

More refugees, some in fine carriages. The curtains were closed in most of them, hiding the identity of the "nobles" who were running away like the cowardly rats most of them were. Loghain was reminded of all the reasons he had always despised most of the Fereldan nobility. If Esmerelle was in one of those carriages, she deserved to have her bannorn stripped from her.

The mages each drank a lyrium potion, and caste Haste again. The dogs seemed to enjoy it. Sigrun clung to Maude, a fish out of water; a dwarf out of Orzammar, riding a horse under the empty sky. Oghren did not look much happier, and sawed on his horse's mouth in a deplorable way. If they lived through this, he needed more riding lessons.

They passed the last ridge before the ground sloped down to the sea. In the distance, dark clouds of smoke hung over the city. Amaranthine was burning.

"The darkspawn are already in the city!" Maude cried, enraged. "How can that be? They have walls! They have gates! They have guards! Surely they demanded to search the darkspawns' packs before they let them in. Somebody has screwed up royally!"

They spurred their horses even faster. A bewildered little party of soldiery was outside the South Gate, holding off the darkspawn that rushed out at them in twos and threes.

"Look there!" Maude shouted. "That's Aidan, who leads the City Guard! What's he doing out here?"

They arrived in a storm of dust, and dismounted, while the mages hastily cast rejuvenation spells on them all, and healing spells on Oghren and Sigrun's legs. Loghain tried not to look at Keenan's anguished face. He had looked at every woman on the road, but had not seen his wife. Very likely she was still in the city.

"Wardens!" Aidan bleated, nearly in tears at the sight of them. "Thank the Maker you're here!"

"How did the darkspawn get into the city?" Loghain demanded, wanting to grab the terrified man and shake some courage into him. It never worked, so he did not bother.

"I don't know! I don't know!" the man protested frantically. "The lookouts saw them advancing. We shut the gates and barred them, and then the darkspawn just erupted inside the city. We had to flee for our lives! We had to!"

"Where is Bann Esmerelle?"

"I don't know! I don't know!"

Loghain sneered, and shoved the yammering fool aside.

The other guards however, were just as hysterical.

"The city is lost, my lord!" wailed one of them.

Aidan agreed. "We'll have to burn it to the ground! It's the only thing that will stop the darks—"

"Are you _mad?"_ Keenan shouted. He stared at Loghain beseechingly. "My _wife_ is in that city."

Maude's mailed fist connected with Aidan's jaw, and the Chief Constable went down in a heap.

Quietly, without even looking at Loghain, she said, "As you were not at the Battle of Denerim, it might have escaped your attention that we did not _burn the city down!_ Amaranthine is not lost. It is right there in front of us. People are still in there. We are not burning it to the ground: not while one person might be alive. If you're too afraid to stand with us, go south the Vigil and make yourself useful. Otherwise, get out of my way."

"Keenan!" Loghain ordered. "Tie up the horses in that hovel over there. It will keep them out of sight."

Maude lent a hand, to make it go faster. Loghain tried to take in the situation. The South Gate was standing half-open, and screams and shouts came to them faintly. Someone was still putting up a fight. For all he knew the citadel was still holding. Esmerelle might be directing a defense.

Loghain shoved past the gormless fools. "Wardens!" he turned to lead them into through the open gates, when a scream caught his attention.

"Darkspawn!"

The creature approaching them from the shacks outside the gate put up its hands in a sign of peace.

"Do not be killing! Only talking! I come with a message for Grey Wardens."

Its harsh voice sounded more rational than any darkspawn they had yet met. Maude moved forward, looking eager to speak to the thing.

"Don't shoot!" Loghain ordered, reluctantly. To the creature, he called out, "If you have something to say, then say it!"

The talking darkspawn was a warrior, heavily armed and armored. Still, its weapon was sheathed, and its expression—for the thing definitely was capable of such—was entreating.

"I am the Messenger. The Architect has sent me with news for Grey Wardens. He would not see The Mother win. She has sent her troops against the city, but her secret place is almost unguarded. Grey Wardens must not fight here and be killed. They must come with me to fight The Mother!"

"Oh, we're going to fight The Mother," Maude assured him breezily. "First, though, we have to save this city and its people."

The creature was horrified. "But you will be killed, and the Mother will be victorious. The Mother's creatures are too many for you! They have found the secret way into the city! Come quickly, and destroy her while there is yet time!"

"What 'secret way' into the city? " Loghain demanded. Maude glanced at him reproachfully, and walked toward the darkspawn. Anders groaned.

"Not this again!"

"Be silent, Anders!" Morrigan hissed at him. "I find it very diverting!"

Keenan whispered, "What's going on? What is she doing?"

Oghren chucked. "My boy, watch and learn."

Maude lowered her voice, so that only the other Wardens could hear her.

"I think," she said to the Messenger, "that the Architect gave you some Warden blood, didn't he? Perhaps even mine? Yes, I thought so. That makes you practically a Grey Warden yourself. So you need to come with us and help defend these people."

The Messenger's jaw dropped. The whitened eyes stared at her, hopelessly confused. Maude went on, her lovely voice gentle but firm.

"The Grey Wardens do not exist to defend themselves. They exist to defend the people of Thedas, because they are strong, and the strong have a duty to defend the weak. So it has been since the beginning. Come with us now, and defend this city of Amaranthine."

She turned back to her fellow Wardens, giving Loghain a wink. After a brief moment of confusion, the darkspawn shambled docilely after her.

"Yes," it rumbled. "I shall come, and do as the Grey Warden bids."

"I knew it," Oghren grunted. "Completely whipped already." He and Sigrun grinned at each other and smacked their palms together.

Maude found a full helmet and handed it to their darkspawn recruit.

"Here," she said. "Put this on. That way no one will mistake you for one of the _bad_ darkspawn. After all, you're a _good_ darkspawn, and practically a Grey Warden!"

"I can't believe you did that!" Sigrun muttered, still grinning as they marched into the city. The dogs whined and cocked their heads at their new ally. Loghain felt fairly bewildered himself.

Maude leaned down and whispered. "It really wasn't that hard! I think this one is really…all right. Really, and not even for just a darkspawn. I think I've figured him out, but I'll tell you later."

The thing could certainly fight. They burst on the random groups of darkspawn like a storm.

"Target those bloody archers!" Loghain shouted. "You!" he shouted at the Messenger. "Tell me—_now_— about this 'secret way' into the city!

"There is a passage from below a building outside the walls," the Messenger told him. "It leads up through an ale-house—"

Keenan burst out, "The Crown and Lion? Is it the Crown and Lion? Nida's staying there!"

"I do not know the name. It is in the middle of the city, against the walls of the citadel..."

"The Crown and Lion!" Keenan shouted, dashing angry tears from his ears, furiously nocking an arrow.

Keenan proved to be a superb archer, even by Loghain's lofty standards, capable of dropping genlocks with a single shot. It was handy to have him in the party now, and Loghain told him to stay at the rear, picking off spellcasters and bowmen.

Fires had broken out throughout the city, and there were dead in the streets, but it was not yet destroyed. In one twisting alley they found a band of the city guard putting up a respectable fight. These guardsmen joined them, and they moved along, picking up more and more of the men as they searched the streets. By the time they had gone all the way down Market Street, they were over two dozen in number, and the archers could fire a small volley against the ogre they found near the Water Gate. They found yet more guardsmen, and an officer.

"Some of the people ran to the Chantry!" he told them, wiping his sweaty face. "At least that's where we told them to go!"

Doors were still locked and barred, including the gate of the massive citadel in the city's center. Locked, too, was the gate of the Bann's estate, which was part of the same huge structure. Other houses and shops and taverns were built into its outside. It was the oldest part of the city: the original fortress around which the rest of Amaranthine had sprung up. It was just possible that Bann Esmerelle was inside and safe, though there was no sign of her, nor of guardsmen wearing her personal livery. The accesses to the ramparts were secure as well. Loghain's gaze swept the upper catwalks. Yes! There were men there. Some of them were armed with bows, and were shooting down at the little knots of darkspawn. It was little enough, but better than nothing. An arrow _thunked_ against the pavement near Loghain's boot and he glared up at the fool, who instantly ducked away behind a corner.

A crowd of darkspawn were coming out of the Crown and Lion tavern. Oghren laughed aloud.

"Didn't like the ale?"

"I think there's a joke hiding there somewhere," Anders remarked, "but that's just me."

"Nida!" Keenan gazed in horror at the inn.

Maude grabbed his elbow, murmuring assurances. "Surely she must already have made it to the Chantry! But we'll go in and look, anyhow."

Another handful of guardsmen cut their way through to them. They charged the darkspawn from both sides and cut them down. From the open space they could see the steps leading up the hill to the great Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer. The double doors were closed.

Maude whooped. "The Chantry's still intact, or the doors would be open!"

"You lot!" Loghain shouted at a dozen of the guards. "Stay here and kill any darkspawn that pops its head out in the street. The rest of you, with us!"

The door of the tavern hung crazily on one hinge. Maude checked for traps, and then darted in. It was a slaughterhouse. They were immediately attacked by another talking darkspawn and more of the insect-like Children of the Mother. Ravaged dead bodies of humans and elves littered the tavern common room. A dead servant girl lay crumpled in the kitchen. Keenan's face was grey with anguish.

Another mob of darkspawn exploded out at them as they went up the stairs. After they were finished off, Keenan broke away and rushed to one of the rooms.

"She's not here!" he shouted, ecstatic with relief. "She's not here! Her clothes are here, but she isn't!" He appeared in the door, clutching at a discarded shift, face radiant.

Sigrun patted his arm. "There! You see! She got away. She must be up in that Chantry place."

"I think someone was staying in Kristoff's room," Maude said, after a brief search. "Maybe his wife? No corpse here either, I'm glad to say."

They searched all the rooms, and worked their way to the storage room at the end of the hall. Bag and barrels were lying scattered, pushed aside. A huge trapdoor was gaping open, and Ranger nosed at the breeze coming up from below, growling. All the Wardens sensed the darkspawn milling below. Maude grimaced.

"Smugglers," she remarked. "This is how the smugglers have been getting into the city, and Bann Esmerelle couldn't be bothered to shut them down. So the darkspawn found it and used it."

"Yes," rumbled the Messenger. "This is the secret way. The Architect knew of it long ago. He knows of many such hidden passages. The Mother learned of it from one who betrayed the Architect."

The dogs had some difficulty with the steep first part of the passage, but it soon opened out to a broad and fairly shallow ramp. The tavern's ale was stored down here, in huge tuns. Loghain grabbed a lingering Oghren by the shoulder, and gave him a hard look.

"Later."

"Right. It'll taste better then, anyway."

A powerful speaking spellcaster was commanding the darkspawn. He appeared to know the Messenger, and there was a garbled, enraged exchange before the creature went down. Once the crowd of darkspawn lay dead, Loghain took a moment to look about him.

Yes. This was definitely where the smugglers had made their way into the city. Here was a cavern with access to the sea, and a little private dock. Untouched crates of contraband were piled up, and a few bodies sloshed in the lazy surf. They had been surprised by the darkspawn and had not run fast enough. Topaz sniffed at one crate, and became quite excited. Maude popped it open and found it full of smoked Llomerynn oysters: quite a luxury item. She tossed some to the dogs and passed more to the Wardens. Another crate contained old Antivan wine. She broke the neck off a bottle and took a long pull, and then passed it around. The Messenger eyed them with curiosity as they ate and drank.

"Don't you want some?' Maude asked, waving the bottle at him.

The darkspawn shook his head. "I never drink...wine."

"Ah."

Without much trouble, they found the other passage that led under the city walls and out to the ramshackle hovels that crowded too close. They stepped outside to the sound of pounding and screams.

"Another wave of darkspawn!" Maude shouted, running around the corner. She paused, briefly.

"Oh, _shit!"_

That fool Aidan and his cronies had lingered by the gates too long: too afraid to fight in the city, and too afraid to take the road to Vigil's Keep. Now they were being ground to paste by an armored ogre, not unlike the monster the Wardens had faced in Kal'Hirol. Supporting the brute was a powerful speaking spellcaster. The Messenger rushed at the darkspawn mage, while Morrigan and Anders tried to freeze the ogre.

Dead darkspawn sprawled before the gate, shot down from guards above. Their arrows had no effect on the ogre or the spellcaster.

More spells, more swordplay, more injuries. Loghain was struck by a glancing blow from one of the giant fists, and slammed to the ground, his head spinning.

They won, of course, and the guardsmen above whooped and cheered, their voice faint and distant. Loghain gritted his teeth while Anders healed him, and then bellowed, "I need some of you down here!"

The cheers faded into uncertainty. The men looked at each other, and a handful of them duly made their appearance. They were charged with closing and barring the gate, in case any other darkspawn would try to enter the city.

Oghren grunted at the mangled dead bodies. "Looks like this city needs a new Chief Constable! Don't imagine you can heal that, Sparklefingers!"

Anders grimaced. "Not likely. Morrigan, are you all right?"

"I am wonderfully well," Morrigan drawled. "The blood on my face is not mine."

Anders dampened a handkerchief and tenderly wiped her nose and chin. Loghain rolled his eyes, while Sigrun nudged Oghren.

"They are such a cute couple…" she whispered.

Maude called out to the guards. "Wait. Before the gate is closed…" She walked over to the Messenger, who was skulking some distance away, hideous head still concealed by the full helmet.

"Thank you for helping us," Maude said to the creature, sweetly and earnestly. "You fought very bravely, and many will now live who would have died without your good service. Your part in this war is over now. I think you should make your own way in the world, and never go back to the Architect."

"—in Orlais," added Loghain, ignoring Maude's exasperated glare. He explained to the darkspawn. "Over the mountains, far to the west, there is country called Orlais. They have great need of your services there. The land is rife with cruelty and injustice."

"Yes," the darkspawn agreed, slowly and thoughtfully, testing the words. "Orlais...The strong have a duty to the weak. I shall go, and save many."

He lumbered away, and Loghain blew out a deep, relieved breath.

"Orlais?" Maude raised her brows.

"It_ is_ rife with cruelty and injustice," Loghain maintained. Anders, and then Morrigan burst out laughing.

Oghren told Sigrun, "There's a long story there. A long, long, long, long, long... _long_ story."

The dwarf girl was confused. "So you just let that darkspawn...go?"

"Of course," Maude said, looking after the creature as it grew small in the distance. "Was that a soulless creature? I think not. I wasn't going to kill a fellow Warden if I could avoid it."

"A Warden?" Keenan asked, horrified.

Maude turned to him, with a half-smile. "The Architect is clever, but not all _that_ clever. While he hasn't been able to make Grey Wardens out of ghouls or darkspawn, I think he has succeeded in turning Grey Wardens into darkspawn. I believe that poor creature was a Warden once, who went to his Calling in good faith, expecting to die honorably in the Deep Roads. The Architect got his hands on him first. I think the Architect is very, very interested in Wardens, based on what he said to me when I was his prisoner. So this Warden became a ghoul and lost his memories, but the Architect succeeded in restoring his intelligence. In this case, it's clear to me that a bit of the man he used to be endured."

"Perhaps so," Morrigan mused.

"It's a lousy retirement plan, though," Anders muttered.

There was little else to say about it. Avernus had never experienced the Calling. Loghain fervently hoped that the improved Joining formula given to him by Avernus would have the same effect on Maude and himself. And Morrigan. And every other Fereldan Warden, as soon as they could get back to the Peak and Avernus' notes and laboratory.

The gates were closed behind them, and they stumped back through the blood-drenched streets.

"We're paying a call on the Bann next," Loghain said tersely.

"Fine," Maude agreed, with a faint, unpleasant smile.

He stood in front of the citadel gate and bellowed up a demand to open. A lone guardsmen poked his head out an upstairs window.

"We've got orders, my lord! We're not to open to anyone, not even the Revered Mother!"

Loghain was not having any of that. "Well, open to me, or we'll lay siege to you when Lord Nathaniel arrives, and the Bann won't care for that. Where is she, anyway? I want to have a word with her about her failure to close down the smugglers. The darkspawn found their tunnel, and that's how they got into the city!"

The man's head bobbed, and he vanished. For some time. Loghain was about to start shouting again when another man—this one obviously an upper servant—appeared.

"My lord!" the man said nervously. "Bann Esmerelle is… _dead._ She appears to…to have…"

The guardsman poked his head out again, and bawled, "She's killed herself! She's hanging in her bedchamber!"

Maude snorted a laugh. "Saves me the trouble!" Loghain elbowed her. She scowled and elbowed him back.

In some ways, Esmerelle's suicide made things easier. It saved them the trouble of arresting her, and a long a unpleasant appearance before the Landsmeet in order to strip her of her title. On the other hand, Nathaniel needed to come soon, so someone would be in charge of maintaining order in the city. Loghain shouted, "Well, open up and prepare the place for us and Lord Nathaniel. Leave all the Bann's papers and belongings just as they are. We'll need to examine them!"

"Yes, my lord."

Keenan pleaded, "Warden-Commander…could we go to the Chantry now? I just…"

"Yes, now," Loghain agreed. Of course the man was desperate to know what had become of his wife. He yelled up at the guards. "We're going to the Chantry, but we'll be back shortly! I expect everything to be ready for us!"

They picked their way over bodies. Sigrun asked Anders, "Is a Chantry like the Shaperate?"

Morrigan huffed with contempt. "They wish!"

Anders considered Sigrun's question. "They do keep books there, and it _is_ a place where customs and beliefs are recorded and communicated. The priests are a lot more interested, though, in telling people what to think and how to behave than the Shaper of Memories seemed to be. A lot of it is preaching about the evils of magic and how people like Morrigan and me need to be locked up."

"So the surfacers hate mages like most of the dwarves hate dusters?"

"No. Most of the dwarves may despise the dusters, but they don't _blame _them for everything wrong with the world."

"Then why are we going there?" She looked ahead. Keenan had outdistanced them: a thin, harassed, anxious man. "Other than for that, of course."

Maude said, "Because it's a big strong building, and the Revered Mother was decent enough to offer people a refuge. You're not obligated to believe anything she says when she's giving a sermon or praying."

"What's a sermon…?" The dwarf asked. She whispered, "Can I go in, or do Oghren and I need to wait outside?"

"Of course you're coming in!" Maude said. "Morrigan's coming in and she's not an Andrastean! Or are you?" she asked her friend, and grinned. "Maybe you've become a secret convert!"

"_Highly_ unlikely! Better to waste my time pretending reverence for the Lady of the Skies or Korth the Mountain Father! They are far more amusing."

Maude agreed, "There are a lot of fun stories about Korth. I guess I like Kiveal the best, though. He's full of tricks and clever schemes…"

Some of the rescued guardsmen had already alerted the Chantry to their salvation. The double doors were open, and people were peeking out, cheering and offering thanks to the Maker and blessings to the Wardens. Keenan pulled himself together, and waited for Loghain and Maude to enter the Chantry first. He hurried right behind them, searching the vast interior for that one beloved face…

"Nida!" He dashed from their ranks and rushed to a pale, distraught woman huddled in a corner. Maude beamed as he swept her up in his arms and kissed her.

"Well!" she said to Loghain as they waved to the crowd. "At least somebody has a happy ending. I'm glad. I hope she's nice, since we'll be bringing her back to live with us."

Loghain absently genuflected to the Revered Mother, his mind ticking over the complications of married housing for Wardens. Perhaps one of the unused wings at Soldier's Peak…or one of the outbuildings… Keenan and his wife did not appear to have children, so for now they could be given one of the bedchambers at the Denerim Compound.

The Revered Mother was speaking: a grey, strained-looking woman, her aged voice cracking a little from the pressure she had been under.

"My lord…Warden-Commander. Andraste's blessings on you and your Wardens. This is a day of deliverance and thanksgiving that will forever remembered in the City of Amaranthine!"

Cheers, more pious prosings from the Revered Mother, solemn thanks to the Dragonslayer Loghain for their salvation, and a long, long prayer. Loghain became aware that breakfast had been some time ago, and that a few smoked oysters were completely inadequate sustenance for this day's efforts. The woman finally was done. He had to say something, and told people to stay where they were for the moment and obey the city guard and their officer. The darkspawn must be collected without touching them, taken from the city and burned. Everything they had touched must be purified, preferably by fire or acid. They were to be wary of signs of Blight disease, and report it promptly. Their Arlessa was aware of their situation, so help would be forthcoming. He declared a curfew, warning them that guards would be posted in the streets.

That was all. Anders was fidgeting, eager to be at his healing. Before they could move two steps, an old acquaintance was upon them. Maude saw her first.

_"Wynne!_ What are you doing in Amaranthine?"

Loghain did not have to groan at the sight of the elderly mage, since Morrigan and Anders were doing that for him. In fact, he was pleased that someone so competent was here to take care of the wounded, but her presence was a mystery to him. Maude introduced her to Sigrun, and Oghren joined the conversation, while Loghain gave orders to the guardsmen and anyone who would lend a hand.

"You have _got _to be kidding!" Oghren bellowed at Wynne. The mage was indignant, but Maude was gesturing soothingly, while she smiled and shook her head. Wynne appeared very put out, and went back to her patients, not without taking the opportunity to critique Anders' efforts.

Maude had moved on, and was now speaking to a very pretty blonde woman. Loghain had just time enough to see Maude take her by the arm and gently lead her away from the crowd.

There was a lot to do, and not a lot of people able to handle the authority Loghain needed to delegate. He gave a series of orders to the guard officer, and decided to set up a command post at the citadel forthwith.

"Wardens!" he called out. "To me!"

The wardogs immediately began barking, to the alarm of priests and refugees alike. They burst through the crowd and sat in front of Loghain, panting, tongues lolling. One tiny girl squealed with delight, and reached out chubby hands to pet Topaz.

"Puppy!"

Her mother grabbed her and glanced apologetically at Loghain, before retreating into the crowd.

Maude arrived fairly quickly, leading the pretty blonde. Sigrun was with her. Keenan had an arm around his wife. Oghren sauntered over, smirking at the hubbub. Morrigan was tugging on Anders arm, and then giving up and stamping off, her face like thunder. What was Anders doing? He seemed to be in conversation with an elf woman. Was Morrigan_ jealous?_

"Loghain," Maude said softly, "this is Aura, Kristoff's wife."

Loghain bowed to the young woman, and forced himself to speak in his gentlest tones. "I am sorry for your loss, Madam."

Her lovely face was sad, but composed. "I knew in my heart that he was gone. Perhaps it was meant to be. Kristoff's father died a Warden as well." She had a very pleasant voice: her Orlesian accent was almost undetectable.

"Aura should be with us," Maude insisted. "We're going to the Bann's now, aren't we?"

"Yes, our next stop," Loghain agreed. He wanted a long and serious look at Esmerelle's papers. "Madam, come with us. You will safely lodged at the Bann's estate."

"I thank you," Aura whispered, lost in her own thoughts and memories.

Keenan murmured to Nida, "See? We have somewhere to stay. There's sure to be enough room at the Bann's place. I'll fetch your things from the inn later…" He whispered to Maude, "She's had a hard time, poor lass. Some fellow at the Crown and Lion held the darkspawn off long enough for her to get away. She's torn up about it."

"Of course," Maude said sympathetically.

They pushed their way out of the Chantry, waving off the well-wishers. One saucy wench had the impudence to wink at Loghain, and then bow low enough to show her wares beneath her low cut peasant's blouse. He glared at her. The girl laughed, undaunted.

Anders hurried up. "Loghain!" he whispered urgently. "My phylactery! It may be here in Amaranthine. This is the best chance I'll ever have."

"Oh?" Morrigan sneered, overhearing. "Was that what you were discussing with that elven tart? And you believe her every word?"

"Namaya is not a _tart,"_ Anders argued. "Well, she is, but she's very nice. Very understanding." They walked quickly, as Anders poured out his story. "There's a warehouse by the market. We can be in and out before the Chantry sends any guards there."

"Anders, you're a Warden," Loghain said impatiently. "The Chantry has no power over you."

The young man looked at him with skepticism and reproach. Loghain sighed. Perhaps Anders was right not to trust the Chantry's restraint.

Oghren raised his voice, "You know what that Wynne had to the stones to ask us? Some other old biddy is here in Amaranthine, and Wynne wanted us to look for her in the Wending Wood, because there's some big mage meeting in Cumberland she wants her to go to. Like we've got nothing else to do, and the darkspawn aren't knocking down the door!"

"Well, we certainly don't have time to go back to the Wending Wood for her," Maude said briskly. "We can pass on the message to Nathaniel when he arrives, and he can decide if he has a man to spare to look for a wandering mage."

Anders asked, "What kind of meeting in Cumberland?"

Oghren shrugged, "Don't rightly know. Some bunch of mages want to break with having the Chantry watch over them…"

"That's a recipe for disaster!" Anders yelped.

"Is it so indeed?" drawled Morrigan. "It seems to me past time such a thing was done."

Anders shook his head in despair. "Of course I agree, but the Templars won't stand for it. We can say we're free until the return of Andraste, and that won't make a bit of difference if the Chantry decides to keep locking us up!"

The citadel was open to them, and they were led to Bann's private estate: a tall house of five levels. Guards passed them through the entrance and crossed their pikes against the bold stragglers who had trailed after the Wardens. The older man who was indeed Esmerelle's seneschal greeted them, flurried, harried, and rather upset. He assured them of a meal and beds for the night. Loghain ordered some men to fetch their horses and bring them to the Bann's stable. The Wardens were then taken to a comfortable sitting room.

Maude murmured to the seneschal, "Warden Keenan's wife has had a traumatic experience and needs to be shown to a bedchamber right away. That lady there," she said, indicating Aura, "has just received news of her Warden husband's death, and requires the same." Those Wardens," she gestured at Morrigan and Anders, "will share a room, and I will share with my husband, the Warden-Commander. Our Wardens Oghren and Sigrun require a room apiece. We also need proper food for our dogs, who will stay with us."

This was all very well, and needed to be done, but Loghain had other things on his mind. "Take me to Bann Esmerelle."

The seneschal was not a fool. The dead noblewoman had been cut down, but was laid out, not on her bed in the great bedchamber, but in a nearby storeroom that could be locked. Loghain and Maude studied the swollen face in silence.

"I think I'd use a sleeping potion if I were going to off myself," Maude finally decided. "Or maybe cut my wrists. Hanged people look awful. It's the bulgy eyes."

"Maude…"

She was already examining the dead body carefully, removing the woman's jewelry.

"Nothing here from Highever," Maude declared, pocketing the items, "but I'll search her bedchamber and her study. She's probably got a secret hiding place or two."

Loghain studied her papers while Maude scoured the rooms. It did not take an expert thief long to find the false bottom in a drawer of the handsome writing table, or the cubbyhole behind a portrait of Rendon Howe. From a hidden set of account books, Loghain learned that Esmerelle had indeed been taking a portion of the smugglers' profits, and been doing very well from it. This had started some time after Rendon Howe's death. Clearly the woman did not feel the loyalty to the daughter that she had to the father. Loghain would put guards on the smuggler's hideout, so that Delilah could confiscate the goods there, or distribute them as she liked.

"Oh, look! What a nice little casket!" Maude exclaimed, picking the lock of a jeweled box on a pedestal. "I hope there's gold in it." She flipped open the lid and rummaged through it. "No. alas, I think—" She bit back a wry smile, and rummaged some more. "You know what's in here, Loghain? Every letter, message, or note Rendon Howe ever wrote to her. Who would have thought Esmerelle so sentimental? You never really know about people... especially people you hate," she added, in a low voice. "Anyway, I'm going down into the cellars for a look about. By the way—some of the late Arlessa's jewels were behind the portrait of Rendon. Delilah should have them, since they were her mother's."

"Don't take too long," Loghain ordered her. "We need a meal and some sleep. We must press on to the Mother's lair before she knows that her attack on the city failed."

"And we should go out and fetch Anders' phylactery," she reminded him. "We should do that now—or right after we have something to eat."

"If you must. I'll stay here. Someone needs to be available in case of emergency, and I want to finish looking at Esmerelle's second set of books, anyway."

* * *

They had dinner enough even for Wardens, and made ready for the last errands of the day. Keenan did not wish to leave his wife, so they decided he would remain at the Bann's estate, and watch over Nida as she rested. Aura, too, turned in for an early night.

Loghain agreed to help direct the efforts of the city guard, and decided to take Oghren and Sigrun with him. Maude would take Anders and Morrigan on the hunt for the phylactery.

Keenan came down and spoke softly to Maude. "Nida's things are still at the Crown and Lion. Could someone pack them up for her?"

"After we go visit Anders' warehouse, we'll check the inn. Aura told me she was staying in Kristoff's room, so we'll fetch her belongings as well." Maude saw a timid maidservant lurking nearby, and left instructions to change the sheets in the great bedchamber, since she and Warden-Commander would be sleeping there, and to place in that room a handsome chest she had found and fancied.

"Yes, there are some Highever things in it," she told Loghain. "And some not-Highever things. And there are some books in the library with _my_ name in them. I'll do a thorough search there later on. Let's go get the phylactery, and then I can finish the job!"

Topaz pressed against Loghain's legs, happy to go out for another pleasant walk with him and enjoy the interesting smells. The sun was setting in sullen grandeur. Amaranthine's streets were mostly empty, and reeked of smoke and blood and Taint. Some guards were going along the stone of the wall with torches, searing surfaces clean. Bodies were being loaded into carts by men with heavy gauntlets and their mouths and noses wrapped in oiled linen to protect them from disease. Maude gave Loghain a quick kiss as they parted ways. She hurried around a corner and down the ancient stone steps to the Market, followed by Anders, Morrigan, and Ranger, his tail wagging.

By the time darkness fell, the crews had done all that could be done. Pyres were burning south of town, for the darkspawn and for the citizens of Amaranthine. Luckily, the night wind was coming from the north, and the city was spared the worst of the stink. There would be continuing cases of Blight disease for months to come, very likely, but the locals knew what to do, even though it was painful and horrible.

Topaz seemed well enough. Loghain watched her anxiously from time to time, expecting to see signs of the disease in her, but she was resistant so far. Some creatures—and people—were. Even in Denerim, only a small percentage of the population had died of the Blight disease. Once contracted, it was inevitably mortal, but not everyone did contract it.

He returned to the Keep, for another stab at Esmerelle's shady dealings, while Topaz enjoyed a meaty hambone, lolling at his feet. Sigrun, and then Oghren turned in. Fortunately, the latter was two floors above, and Loghain need not fear being kept awake by his snoring.

Where was Nathaniel Howe? He and the reinforcements should have been here hours ago. The Wardens needed to move on the Mother, not command Amaranthine in the absence of its Arlessa.

For that matter, where was Maude?

Ah! There she was: a clear and cheerful voice downstairs ordering the carrying of chests and trunks to various rooms. A hint of weariness, too. It was full dark now, and definitely time for Wardens to be in bed.

Anders and Morrigan paused by the door of the study, both looking rather weary. Anders' expression told him what he needed to know.

"No phylactery, I take it?"

"'Twas a trap," Morrigan declared. "Not a very cunning one, but a trap nonetheless."

Ranger pushed between the mages, and hurried over to Topaz, sniffing at her, and then showing interest in her treat. She was tired of it, anyway, so there was no dispute.

Maude hurried up at last, and gave Loghain a devilish smirk as she arrived, shutting the door behind her.

"You heard? A trap! I cannot believe those Templars! After cowering in the Chantry while the city burns around their ears, they can't think of anything better to do than plot against one of the Wardens who saved their worthless hides!"

"Are we going to have a problem with the Chantry, Maude?" Loghain asked, exasperated. "Did you pick a fight with them? That is not quite what we need right now."

"They picked a fight with us!" Anders muttered bitterly. "Rylock and her cronies were hiding in the warehouse waiting for us."

Maude lounged triumphantly in the chair opposite him. "I saw at once that it was a trap, since the door to the warehouse was unlocked. Ranger sniffed them out right away. So we had a little talk, and I explained that Anders was a Warden and that that was not subject to change; and then that crazy bitch Rylock had the gall to demand I turn Anders over to her, and I told her to hide in the Chantry and find a toddler to bully, since that's obviously all Templars were good for; and then swords were drawn, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." She gave him a brilliant smile, unfazed. "We went back to the Chantry, and I found the Revered Mother and told her the melancholy tale of a trio of Templars crazed with Blight disease. Too bad, so sad. People need to be more _careful._ So we're fine."

"But no phylactery," Anders sulked. "Namaya set me up."

Morrigan was haughtily pleased to have been proved right. "'Tis only to be expected when dealing with such women. She was a harlot and a traitor, and had best not show even the tips of her ears until we are well gone."

"—Which might not be tomorrow," Loghain told them. "Obviously, Nathaniel is not here, nor is our guard, nor are any of the promised reinforcements. Pushing on now, with the city vulnerable and unsettled, might be a serious mistake."

"Maybe the Mother sent a sortie against Vigil's Keep as well." Maude thought about it, eyes narrowed. "She probably didn't know that the underground passage inside has been closed. Surprise, surprise."

"And," Morrigan said, "You should know that when we went to fetch those women's things from the inn, we discovered something that might cause some difficulties."

Loghain raised his brows, wondering what she meant.

Maude leaned forward and confided, "There were men's things in Nida's room, and I don't think they were Keenan's. I think Nida was carrying on with a _lover!"_

Anders was annoyed. "I thought we agreed that it would serve absolutely no useful purpose in the world for anyone to go blabbing about that."

"I am not _blabbing,"_ Maude objected. "I am reporting a situation to our commander that he should be aware of. That's all." She subsided into her seat, looking virtuous.

"Perhaps," Morrigan added maliciously, "That is the cause of the woman's distress—not some sort of delicate sensitivity to the sufferings of strangers."

Loghain knew he did not want to deal with this, and that attempting to deal with it would be a terrible mistake. "I hope," he said at last, "that you did not pack up and bring along any of this man's belongings for Keenan to find."

Maude rolled her eyes. "Of course not! We are the souls of discretion. Just thought you should know, in case the woman starts having hysterics and mourning her lost love at the top of her voice."

"I'm surprised you're so hot about it, Maude," Anders said. "I thought you were more open-minded."

"Not about cheating behind a Warden's back when we're risking our lives to keep the world safe. That's incredibly tacky and completely unacceptable. Nida had better watch her step with me!"

It was certainly time for some sleep—or something of the sort—and they headed up to the Bann's fine bedchambers, bidding Anders and Morrigan goodnight.

These bedchambers were, in fact, far more beautiful and luxurious than similar quarters at Vigil's Keep. Esmerelle's taste had been widely admired, and in her own home it had had free rein. She had been a very wealthy noblewoman, after all: one of the wealthiest in Ferelden, and her wealth had not depended on the weather or on crop yields. In the Bann's own great bedchamber, the servants had turned down the bed and drawn a bath in a large enameled tub. Maude shooed them away, laughing.

The bed was huge: wide enough for five people, if that was what you fancied. The sheets and coverlet were of violet-colored silk, as were the bed canopy and the voluminous draperies. The furniture itself was of rare woods from the north, and partly gilded. To Loghain's eye, it seemed shockingly excessive. His disapproval must have shown in his face.

"It's actually quite beautiful," Maude remarked. She frankly admired their surroundings, and tossed some of the huge silk cushions onto the floor for the dogs to enjoy. "Rather over-the-top, but beautiful nonetheless." She stroked the ornate carving of a bedpost, and began unbuckling.

"You do realize that Esmerelle entertained Rendon Howe in this very bed—and that she was cut down from that very canopy!"

That only made her laugh. "Living well is the best revenge, Loghain!" She attacked his own armor with a glint in her eye. "Come on! Did you see the size of that bathtub? I have an idea..."

* * *

Not until noon the following day did they find out what had happened to their reinforcements. Nathaniel Howe and his men marched into Amaranthine, hollow-eyed and exhausted. The lookouts alerted Loghain to his arrival, and the young nobleman was directed to the citadel, where Loghain was waiting for his report. Maude perched on a window sill, and gave Howe a pleased greeting. To Loghain's surprise, the man actually smiled at her.

"I'm relieved to see the city still standing," Nathaniel said. "I had just set out to follow you, when we learned that a darkspawn force was sighted, headed toward Vigil's Keep. I couldn't leave Delilah alone, and I turned the men around. We managed to get back to the Vigil ahead of the darkspawn—but only just. They had a talking darkspawn with them, and an immense ogre in armor. If it hadn't been for the new gates, the creature would have smashed its way past the curtain wall. As it was, we lost some men to darkspawn magic, but the dwarves had a stockpile of bombs, and between those and good archery, we managed to kill every one of them. They were completely fearless: they would keep attacking, and attacking, no matter how many of their fellows went down. They could have withdrawn out of bowshot and besieged us, but they kept coming on. It took forever to put that ogre down. Without Dworkin's explosives, it would have managed to breach the walls, I'm certain. It was the last thing standing, and when it finally slowed, I led out a sortie of axe-men and we smashed it to bits. Our smiths are interested in the substance it was encased in."

"No doubt," Loghain agreed. He gave young Howe, in his turn, a brief summary of yesterday's battle in the streets of Amaranthine. He apprised Nathaniel about the existence of the smugglers' secret passage, Esmerelle complicity with said smugglers, and how the darkspawn had used the passage to infiltrate the city. "It needs to be closely guarded in future, or completely destroyed."

"So things aren't so bad, after all," Maude said, considering the situation. "It's entirely possible—based on the numbers slain at the Vigil and in Amaranthine—that the Mother has expended the greater part of her forces on her dual attack."

"It's _possible,"_ Loghain granted, seeing the logic of it. It had been a bold move on the Mother's part, but not a particularly clever or subtle one. But why should it be? The Architect may have found a way to return a measure intelligence the darkspawn and their minions, but he could not impart a knowledge of military tactics or strategic genius, since he did not possess those abilities himself. Stealth and surprise were the only ploys the talking darkspawn seem to have mastered. Aside from these, it was all the usual straight-on attack, with no ability to rally or withdraw or create a diversion. The strength of the darkspawn lay nearly entirely in their overwhelming numbers and their physical resistance to damage. Once numbers failed them, most darkspawn were not particularly impressive opponents.

"At any rate, we can leave, now that you're here to manage the city, Nathaniel," Maude declared. "We were really only waiting for you. I've ordered a wonderful lunch—with Llomerynn smoked oysters!—and then we're off to the Mother's lair..."

* * *

_Note—As some of you must know, ffdotnet is making it difficult to reply to reviews. If your messaging feature is disabled, it's now impossible. (Angurvddel, that's why I haven't replied to your review for VaO yet!) If I've missed someone, I apologize. I value everyone's feedback. Thanks to my reviewers: JackOfBladesX, callalili, Guile, Juliafied, Phygmalion, Judy, EmbertoInferno, Aoi24, Shakespira, Josie Lange, Eva Galana, Angurvddel, Jenna53, Tyanilth, mutive, mille libri, Kira Kyuuketsuki, Menamebephil, Enaid Aderyn, Lehni, Zute, Fastforwarmotion, Geral, Persephone Chiara, guantanamobyxx, and Iapetus.  
_

_To Geral: Glad you're enjoying the story. Yes, the Wardens have amassed quite a bit of wealth. Most of the gold at Soldier's Peak was left there. Maude left their own assets at the Denerim compound. The gold received from Ostwick and Orlais is at Vigil's Keep. They have many thousands in gold now, and are really more flush than the Crown. And more is on the way, but that's a future chapter, and there will be a bit of conflict involved there._


	27. Mother's Day

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 27: Mother's Day**

The Mother was waiting. They made the time to eat, to brief Nathaniel a little further about the situation in the city, and then they were off, traveling with all haste west on the Coast Road toward Drake's Fall. People in the street cheered at the sight of them. The guards offered the royal salute as they rode through the gates of Amaranthine.

Unpleasantly cold wind ruffled the low scrub by the cliffs, blowing across the Feravel Plains and out to sea. With the mage's spells, they reached their destination by late afternoon. The sun hung low and orange in the sky, but they could not camp; they could not delay their mission; they could not stop until they were done.

Loghain knew that they must eventually turn south, somewhere along this lonely stretch of road. The old map Delilah had given him had marked Drake's Fall and its environs. In faded ink, the word "Dragonbone Wastes" scrawled out an implicit warning.

_Here there be Monsters._

He had heard of the wastes, of course. There was an old legend from Tevinter times, of the place in the barbarian south where the dragons went to die. Foreign scavengers had once plagued Amaranthine, coming for the valuable dragonbone. Both the early Arls of Amaranthine and their liege lords the Teyrns of Highever had made a significant portion of their fortunes from extracting tolls and fees from said scavengers.

This part of the arling was thinly inhabited, or not inhabited at all. It was not cursed, as the Blackmarsh was, but when the line of local lords had died out, no one pressed to take the place. There was only the large Tevinter fort there, which Howe had considered restoring. Such was the dower house he had once promised Maude on her marriage to his son Thomas. Bryce must have known about Drake's Fall. Had the two men discussed the restoration of the old place, or had the subtle insult been enough to put Bryce off concluding an alliance with his nearest neighbor? It was unlikely that Loghain would ever know, now.

The wind picked up, blowing dust in little grey whirlwinds. They were moving at the speed of a normal trot now, as they sought the long-unused path.

"It _must_ be here," Loghain muttered.

Without deigning to speak, Morrigan took to the air to see if that which was hidden below was clearer above. After a few minutes she returned, and was able to lead them to the place when the "road" forked off. It looked like more rocky waste, but Morrigan was sure this was the right way.

"I saw it clearly. This road winds through some rough terrain, but it is paler than the rest of the earth around it. I believe I saw the fortress. It has a white dome and a long wall. This is definitely the road."

Here, on the edge of the Feravel Plain, the landscape broke up into low, rocky hills and lifeless trees. An ominous stillness hung in the air. Loghain could sense darkspawn, but only dimly, as if under the ground or far away. Winds had scoured the soil away, baring the rocks underneath. Baring other things as well.

"Is that—?" Anders paused, going up to look at what was clearly not simply a rock.

"Part of the spine of a High Dragon," Maude confirmed. "A big one. Erosion must be revealing a lot of the bones that the old-time collectors never found. That's nice to know. Dragon bone is worth a lot of money. We should come back here with wagons and dig it all out. " She thought a little more. "And then we should take it up to Soldier's Peak and hold on to it for awhile. We don't want to flood the market and depress prices. Or it might even be worthwhile to hire a ship and send a load to Kirkwall. We'd make a killing."

Loghain thought about that. "I wonder if that village of ours…Breaker's Cove…has a deep enough harbor for a merchantman."

Maude liked that idea. "So we wouldn't have to pay Amaranthine tariffs? You are so clever. Oh, I hope so!"

"Er," smirked Anders, "You do know that we are actually on Amaranthine territory right now, and that all this," he kicked the huge vertebrae, "is the rightful property of the Arlessa?"

Maude stared at him blankly. Morrigan chuckled to herself.

"Finders Keepers," sang out Sigrun. Maude beamed in approval.

"As long as I get a share," Oghren grunted. "Speaking of which: is anybody in this outfit ever going to actually get _paid?"_

Maude frowned, puzzled. "You mean, in something other than loot?"

"Yes, you're going to be _paid,_ Oghren," Loghain growled. He, after all, had years of experience making sure that soldiers were sufficiently motivated. "Wardens are paid stipends quarterly at Wintersend, Summersday, Funalis, and Satinalia. You Joined after Wintersend, so I can pay you a prorated amount when we return to the Warden Compound, and you'll receive your first full stipend at the end of Cloudreach." He asked the pensive Keenan, "Did you get your Wintersend payment?"

The archer glanced up, "Yes. Kristoff was very scrupulous about that. He had a box of coin he brought from Denerim—"

"Hmmph!" Maude sulked. "Coin that _I_ raised."

"Well…thanks," said Keenan. "My wife and I really needed the money."

That mollified her considerably. "You're welcome." She pointed, "Oh, look! More dragonbone! We're going to be filthy rich!"

Above the stunted trees, past a darkly sparkling little stream, a distant dome gleamed bone-while. The path turned and twisted. At one curve, they found a dragon skull, emerging from the side of a hill. Maude rapped on it and was pleased.

"Very sound. Good quality." Beside her, Ranger growled. She looked up sharply.

Loghain felt it then: the sensation of darkspawn, much closer now. The Taint grew tense and scratchy. Morrigan changed to bird form in order to scout.

"A skirmish between darkspawn factions," she reported a little later. "A band of some dozen mixed hurlocks and gunlocks, led by an armored ogre; versus a pair of penlock archers, some eight of those ghastly insect Children, and what appears to be one of the talking darkspawn, wearing the same colors that other minion of the Mother wore. Shall we fall upon them, or take a rest and let them settle things between themselves?"

Loghain was ready for this. "We'll cross that stream and tie up the horses there, where there's water and a bit of green for them. We'll advance on foot, but let's watch our friends kill each other off, as far as possible."

Using the scrubby little bushes by the stream, Anders and Morrigan were able to construct a warding barrier to protect the horses. Keenan and the dwarves watched this, fascinated.

Anders shrugged, "It wouldn't stop anybody very determined, since all they'd have to do it uproot or destroy the bushes, but a darkspawn might not think of that. They're not all that interested in animals anyway, unless they're right in front of them."

After that, they moved cautiously along the twisting, rocky path, alert for ambushes. They skirmished periodically with small bands of darkspawn, the pattern always the same: the warring factions slaughtered each other, and the survivors were picked off by the Wardens. It was very convenient.

The insect-like Children were genuinely dangerous, and had they attacked in force, Loghain acknowledged that they could be lethal. But in threes and fours—with ranged weapons and spells to counter them? No. The desultory resistance they were meeting was not going to stop the Wardens.

Another sharp twist led them through the vast ribcage of a long-dead dragon. Maude admired the shining bone.

"You know, you could use those ribs for all sorts of things," she remarked. "Impressive door frames, or even bed posts! They could arch over and make the frame of a canopy…With lots and lots of elaborate carving."

Loghain shuddered at the thought of a dragonbone bed. He was not alone.

Before them was Drake's Fall, at last, and the entrance was not fortified. Perhaps the old Tevinters had relied on magic and a locked silverite door to keep out the savages. In front of the door was a wide circular courtyard, and on it, as if on a great stage, the war between the Mother and the Architect raged on. The Wardens rested briefly, watching the spectacle. Maude produced a bag of jerky and another of dried fruit, and the Wardens shared it out.

"What kind of fruit is this?" Sigrun asked, munching. "It's really good. _Whoa!"_

A talking darkspawn had sheared off a genlock's head. It flew through the air, smashing one its fellows in the face and knocking it down. The Wardens chuckled.

"Apricot," Keenan told her. "They grow them up here in the north in sheltered places."

Maude nodded dreamily, as the talking darkspawn lost an arm. "We need to have an orchard at Soldier's Peak. Loghain, wouldn't an orchard be nice?"

He crouched, his hands buried in Topaz's thick fur. She wagged her tail ecstatically. "Yes. An orchard—or two or three— is essential to self-sufficiency. Apples are the most practical, though maybe with some cherries and quinces mixed in. If you want your fancy foreign fruits, we'll have to plant them in a walled garden, and maybe prune them as espaliers to protect them from extreme frost."

Maude gazed adoringly at him, evidently in awe of his agricultural expertise. He would probably have to prune the bloody trees himself if he wanted it done right.

He rose. The only survivors were three Children, who had at last noticed the spectators and turned their way, mandibles clicking. Loghain stuffed the last two apricots in his mouth. They were dealt with by arrow and spell before they were twenty yards away. The Wardens moved on to the wide courtyard outside the door.

Ranger barked and growled, the sound trailing up to a whine. Topaz cocked her head, smelling something unfamiliar. Something _bad._

"I know that smell!" Maude shouted. "Back up to that rock cut! Look up! Look up!_ Dragon!"_

A vast bulk darkened the sky: a roar, louder than a thousand trumpets, rent the air.

Loghain reflexively ducked back under cover, cursing his lack of a bow. The creature landed, shaking the earth.

"Aim at the eyes, Keenan!" Maude shrieked,

Not just a dragon. A High Dragon. Not nearly as big as the Archdemon, but big enough, and healthy. It saw them, head jerking back on the long neck in outrage. Before it could take a step forward, Morrigan had cast a glyph of paralysis, briefly locking it in place. Loghain glared furiously at Keenan. The archer gulped, and then pulled himself together and nocked a heavy, poisoned shaft. He let fly, and then Maude clapped him on the shoulder.

"Freeze the bastard!" Maude yelled at the mages. "Now, lords to the left and ladies to the right!" It took Sigrun only a moment to understand her, and she went pounding after Maude. Loghain was already moving, divining her scheme instantly. Sound, as far as it went with their small band. The dogs, of course, ignored the symmetry of it. Topaz was charging just ahead of him, barreling at the dragon's drooping wing…

It was no Archdemon, but it was more dangerous than any creature they yet had encountered in Amaranthine: worse than the talking darkspawn, worse than the armored ogres, worse even than that Orlesian bitch the Baroness. The mages cast their glittering, ominous spells; distracting and confusing the dragon with their attacks; hexing and misdirecting it.

The dragon flamed at them, Loghain swore as the heat singed his eyebrows. The flame exhausted, Maude jumped in front of it and screamed abuse, while Sigrun and Oghren hewed at the beast's legs with their axes.

"You're going to di—eee!" Maude sang out, grinning demonically, dancing like a tongue of flame. "I'm going to sell your hide to a Kirkwall shoemaker, you chicken-brained newt!"

The fanged head darted out, horribly fast, snapping at Maude like a serpent. She twisted away, and just at that moment, Morrigan caught the dragon with an ice spell that left it motionless.

"Ha!" Maude whooped, and instantly swung up to sit on the lowered, offered neck. Settling in, she aimed, and then thrust into the spine just under the skull.

The dragon broke free of the spell and thrashed in a frenzy, trying to shake off the stinging insect plaguing it. Keenan dared not shoot at the head any longer. Morrigan ran in, targeting the front of the beast, A claw lashed out, and she was knocked backwards, only her armor saving her from disembowelment. Anders' hands crackled with lightning, and the dragon squealed in pain.

Loghain bellowed a challenge, attracting the bewildered dragon's attention. The huge eyes narrowed and it drew a deep, furious breath, preparing another blast of fire. Keenan's arrow struck its tongue: it screamed in agony instead. Maude leaned on her sword, using all her body weight…

The dragon shrieked, freezing up as if under a spell. Slowly, the long neck relaxed, and Maude jumped lightly from the head as the creature rolled to the side, dead.

"That was fun!" Maude said, wildly excited, waving her sword. "Did you see me up there, Loghain? Did you see me? I went up and down, and up and down, and I was up so high you all looked really small! I wish I could do it again, but we'll have to find another dragon, I guess."

She kissed him lightly, and he put his hands on her armored waist for a moment.

"So glad you enjoyed yourself," he managed. It was simply unbelievable how quickly she had killed a High Dragon.

"I did! It was really fun! They should do something like that at fairs, like a swing that goes up and down. I'd pay good coin for that."

"No doubt," he snorted, looking her over to see that she had taken no hurt.

The courtyard was silent once more, the bulk of the Drake's Fall reflecting the late afternoon sun. It was a vast ruin**: **the white domes cracked, the walls falling into rubble. Sickly vines thrust up among the stones, and weeds straggled through the pavement. It was manifest that no one had lived here in hundreds of years, and attempting to repair it would beggar even the Empress of Orlais.**  
**

Maude looked around her in disgust. "So Rendon Howe was going to send me here to live? Every time I think I've grasped how much he hated the Couslands, I am proved wrong."

"It was a noble building, once," Morrigan observed. "and far more ancient that Soldier's Peak. I would guess the old Tevinters used this fortress as a base both to gather dragonbone and to house captured barbarians for the slave trade."

"Lovely," snarked Anders.

"Interesting, though," Maude granted. "It would have been inhabited not by Tevinter magisters, but by Alamarri lords, by the time Asturian came to build Soldier's Peak. It's very likely he visited here."

Loghain thought this was all very commendably learned, but he was more concerned with the lack of resistance. The handful of darkspawn they had met were negligible. This fortress should be manned by defenders: archers on the walls; footsoldiers guarding the imperishable silverite door. He thought that with two dozen men, he could have held this place again twenty times that number.

The dragon, however, had been only the only serious defense, and it was sprawled dead on the overgrown circular courtyard, its dark blood already cooling.

All of it pointed up the fact that the darkspawn were essentially stupid, ignorant creatures. The Architect, for all his tinkering with blood and magic, knew nothing of the profession of arms. Obviously, neither did this being, the Mother. They could summons minions, but no more. It made him oddly optimistic. He gave the door a push. It swung open, unlocked and unresisting.

* * *

"Well, it's not a tower, at least," Maude sighed, her gaze sweeping the entry hall. Its ancient mosaic floor and flaking, painted walls were draped and festooned with Broodmother tendrils. The vile stench they remembered from Kal'Hirol befouled the air. "Except that it is. It's a tower that goes down instead of up. And it's full of the same old crap."

Keenan knew little about Broodmothers, and Sigrun whispered details to him in between skirmishes. He had been given the bare bones of the lore before they set out, so he had had time to take in the essential horror of it. Still, seeing the Tainted vines of flesh with one's own eyes, and feeling the moist, unwholesome matter underfoot was a challenge for anyone. He did not cringe away, however, which pleased Loghain. He merely looked disgusted and determined. Here and there, they found spongy, pulsing bags of gestating darkspawn. The mages incinerated them.

They found the misshapen grey eggs of Children as well, and dealt with them similarly. Occasionally, the larval slugs oozed out and tried to attack. Oghren took special pleasure in swinging his axe down, two-handed, and chopping them apart. The dogs pounced on the rest, ripping them to shreds. As they descended, the air grew more fetid; the thick miasma of darkspawn and disease more oppressive.

They moved along long and slender bridges, and down narrow spiral staircases. The darkspawn should have had the home advantage, but they did not. The construction of Drake's Fall made it impossible to attack the Wardens in force. The defenders were scattered, and could be destroyed piecemeal. The few talking darkspawn they encountered appeared to have little control over the hurlocks who fought besides them, and absolutely no control over the Children at all.

At the foot of yet another contested staircase, they fought a stone golem and a mob of genlocks. The golem required some care, but toppled over with a resounding crash, cracked from top to bottom. Everyone took a deep breath and reached for their canteens, where the air was stirred, and the dogs began barking wildly.

On a broken ledge above them stood a tall and grotesque figure. Almost man-like, though somewhat…_melted._ He was tall: as tall as Loghain, a long, corpse-pale, attenuated figure in something resembling mage's robes, but filthy and grotesque. Loghain realized instantly who this must be, even before Anders spoke.

"Crap, it's _him._ Trying to make a grand entrance, I suppose. Ponce."

The dogs crouched to spring, growling."Heel," Loghain commanded. "Wait." The growls softened, just a little, and the dogs obeyed.

An arrow from Keenan's bow was already flying at the Architect. At the last moment it was knocked aside by a casual wave of the creature's hands. He spread his arms and began floating down, landing easily a few yards from the Wardens. His attempt to impress was spoiled by Maude, yelling and pointing past him.

"And there's that bitch Velanna!" A slender blonde elf was creeping down the staircase beside a dwarf swordswoman. The dwarf was clearly Tainted, and had been for some time: eyes white and glazed, her skin covered with dark lesions. For all that, she looked strong, and in possession of wit enough to fight. The elf, too, was showing ominous signs of change: not much, but enough to set Loghain's nerves tingling unpleasantly. The tainted dwarf woman drew her sword.

In the most mellow, soothing tones, the Architect calmed her. "No, Utha," he urged, "That is not how this must begin." The persuasive, tainted honey of his voice set Loghain's nerves jangling. He had plenty of experience with Maude's tricks, and the very idea of this loathsome creature imagining that he could bend the Grey Wardens to his will set Loghain's teeth on edge.

The Architect faced Loghain, and spoke with mild regret. "I intended to explain myself to you earlier, Commander. Fate, however, intervened, and we did not have the opportunity to communicate."

"Loghain," Maude snarled, "that piece of darkspawn shit saw me _NAKED!"  
_

Studying Maude impassively, the creature said, "I restrained you only to prevent exactly the kind of misunderstanding that took place at Vigil's Keep. I sent the Withered to speak to the Grey Wardens, and your people perceived it as an attack. I am rarely able to predict how your kind will react. It was most unfortunate."

_"'Unfortunate?'"_ Anders echoed, incredulous and indignant.

"Yeah," grunted Oghren, "the kind of 'unfortunate' that ends up with a pile of dead people. I get that a lot."

Maude growled, "And then the darkspawn slaughtered everyone in sight, and dragged Wardens back to you to be tortured by your foul experiments—"

"The Grey Wardens who were brought to me were already dead—"

Keenan and Maude exploded simultaneously.

"—That's a lie!"

"—What a _fib!"_

The Architect ignored them, evidently considering Loghain the only individual worthy of his notice. "I only wish that you hear me out, Commander. Should you still wish to slay me afterward, you may try."

Maude rolled her eyes at Morrigan. "No_ 'trying'_ about it..."

The architect went on, "My kind has even been drawn to the Call of the Old Gods. Their Song compels my kind to search for them, to make contact: the very contact that Taints the Old Gods and turns them into Archdemons. The Archdemons then rise and lead the darkspawn to the surface in what you term a Blight. Your kind fights back until we are defeated. To break the cycle, my brethren must be freed of this compulsion. For that, I need Grey Warden blood. Introducing your blood into one of my kind breaks their link to the Call. Just as you need our blood to become what you are, we need your blood to be free. You take in our Taint, and are transformed. What we take from you is your resistance. I do not seek to rule my kind, only to free them of their chains."

"It would seem," Loghain pointed out, "that not all your kind _wish_ to be free."

"Some react poorly," the Architect admitted. "They are flawed, and rage against me. The Mother gathers them to her, poisoning their minds."

Loghain watched the dwarf and elf creeping down the stairs from the corner of his eye. "Who is the Mother?" he probed.

Thinking this human more rational than the rest, the Architect answered, with a heavy sigh. "My greatest mistake. Freedom drove her mad, and she has influence on those yet unfree. I cannot defeat the Mother alone."_  
_

"You're not going to listen to this joker, are you?" Oghren protested. "He touched my _junk! _No one touches Oghren's junk and—"

"We_ know_ that_,"_ Loghain interrupted, "and it's a great personal comfort to me. So," he said to the Architect, "you wish to make some sort of common cause with us against the Mother. It's not unheard of for someone to use one enemy to kill another."

Voice rich with sincerity, the Architect assured him, "I am not your enemy—"

"That's bullshit!" Maude declared, rosy pink and outraged. "Of course you are! You locked us up! You stole our clothes and gave them to unwashed ghouls! My gambeson still _reeks!_ You stole my blood and used it _without my permission!_ You smashed Keenan's knees! You sent your minions to Vigil's Keep to slaughter the Wardens and every other bystander that could lay their slimy Tainted claws on! And by the way, explain to me how having _intelligent_ darkspawn to fight is somehow better for us!"

Loghain smirked at the Architect, enjoying Maude's rant. He hoped the creature would let slip something more of its agenda, but there was no doubt in his mind what the outcome of their confrontation would be.

"By the way, hello to you too, Velanna," Maude snorted. "Tell me, have your sister and her boyfriend here made you an aunt yet? Enjoying the patter of hundreds of little darkspawn feet, are you?"

"Don't you dare talk about my sister, dirty shemlen!" Velanna screeched.

Sigrun groaned. "That voice! I remember that voice!"

"You know," Anders said, thinking it over. "Velanna does her hair just like you do, Morrigan."

The witch glared at the blonde elf, mortally offended. She narrowed her eyes, considering curses…

The Architect paid them no notice, and continued to speak to Loghain in the tones of one persevering in the face of undeserved attacks, "We must set aside our differences for the greater good. The Mother is a threat to us both—"

"All right, cased closed!" Maude snapped. "You know what? You really are a complete and utter moron, you stupid fucker. You tinker and smash things like a baby with a set of blocks. You have no insight, no understanding, no comprehension of consequences. You experimented on a captive woman, didn't you? Did you rape her yourself like Seranni, or did you set your minions on her by the dozens? It doesn't matter now, I suppose, What matters is that once she's twisted and Tainted and an object of horror, you generously give her the poisoned gift of self-awareness." Her breath hissed over her teeth like a dragon about to flame. "How the fucking _fuck _did you expect that to go well? " she screamed. "Did you expect her to _thank you_ for letting her know she was a monster? Of course she's batshit crazy! It would make any woman crazy! The fact that you didn't know that it would proves that you are too stupid to fucking live!"

The Architect considered her words, puzzled. "Interesting. I shall remember not to attempt it in future. It was a most unfortunate reaction, and quite unexpected. You seem offended by the process, but it is how the darkspawn multiply. It is our nature from time immemorial." He turned to Loghain, ignoring Maude once more. "But that is no reason that we cannot come to an understanding. The Old God Urthemiel was likewise insensible to reason, but it now destroyed, due to your efforts. In the same way—"

Loghain blew out a breath, seeing it all in a flash.

Maude was instantly in the creature's face, enraged.

"I don't think the Mother was your 'greatest mistake' at all! You were the one who got to the Old God first! You dicked around with things you didn't understand! You _started_ the Blight, didn't you, you nitwit?"

"Commander," the Architect said in a pained voice, "I realize how difficult it can be to control one's minions, but I must insist. Once the Mother is gone, I shall take my followers and there will be no more Blights. We can find a way to coexist and even work together in a spirit of cooperation—"

"—I see," Loghain considered, with the briefest glance at Maude. She paused, on the verge of eruption, understanding him. "We kill your enemy for you, and let you go, and everything is thus settled peacefully."

The Architect bowed in assent. His women looked smug.

Loghain went on. "Of course, you'll have to continue to steal and rape women on a regular basis to keep up your numbers, but we should understand and respect the ancient traditions of your kind. Unfortunately—" he sneered, "there's no guarantee that you can even perform what you promise, since your success rate at controlling other darkspawn so far is not particularly impressive—"

"Minion, indeed!" hissed Maude. In the blink of a hurlock's eye, her sword was buried in the scrawny belly of the Architect, and her dagger in his neck. The creature stared at Maude, surprised. Velanna screeched in outrage.

Several things happened at once. The dogs charged the Architect, who retaliated with a blast of power that knocked everyone in the room off their feet. Maude went flying past Loghain, and landed with a crash, weaponless. The Architect pulled out Maude's weapons and tossed them aside. The dogs yipped shrilly and were up, scrambling, attacking again. Loghain launched himself from the floor, crouched low, sword out in front him, hacking at the Architect's legs. He was knocked back by another concussive spell that set his ears ringing. Behind him he heard Oghren shout, and a violent clash of axe against sword as he confronted the dwarf woman Utha. Morrigan cried out in triumph, shrilling a counterpoint to the elf's shriek. An arrow struck the Architect with a meaty _thunk,_ buried deep in the creature's jaw.

The room glowed red with fell magic. Loghain winced, and put up his shield against a blast of fire. Anders was casting, but the Architect countered the spells, chanting in his maddeningly smooth voice. Anders dropped to his knees, head drooping. Sigrun fell back, stumbling, and then darted away, her pair of axes awhirl.

Topaz braved the fire and leaped at the Architect, jaws clamping onto his left hand. The darkspawn fired a quick, crackling curse at the dog. She squealed in pain, her fur burnt away in a red smoking patch. Ranger snarled, ramming the darkspawn from behind, knocking his legs out from under him. Anders cast an ice spell that froze both of them in place. Loghain shook himself, and felt a hand briefly brush his shoulder as Maude vaulted over him, her eating knife thudding into the Architect's face. An undignified yowl, and the staff was lifted once more, while Maude dove for her sword.

Loghain struck. With a backhand sweep, the Architect's staff was sheered in two. It clattered to the stones, and with it fell the creature's right arm. After that, it was nearly over.

Morrigan had rushed up, her face terrifying, screaming a curse that turned the air cold and sick. Loghain slammed the creature with his shield, smashing the distorted face into a bloody ruin, while Maude launched herself at him from behind. Her sword burst out of the Architect's ribs like a living thing. She kicked at him with an armored boot, yanking her weapon free.

"Out of the way!" Loghain roared, looking for an opening. The Keening Blade wailed as if sliced through the Architect skull slantwise. The top slid away wetly. From behind him, Loghain heard Sigrun's mewl of disgust. The brain of the Architect was exposed, pink and grey. Blood throbbed out in a few slow spurts, and then only trickled. The Architect toppled sideways, dead.

Maude laughed as she retrieved her dagger from the floor, and her knife from the Architect's face. "The Architect is now literally a half-wit!"

"Very funny," Anders grunted. Morrigan crouched over him, muttering the only healing spell she knew. Loghain took a look at his people. Maude was bruised but cheerful. Her armor, however, had been dented and damaged, and the left pauldron was torn away. She scowled, fussing with the tattered strap. Keenan sat on one of the lower steps, nursing a bleeding bicep. Beyond him, Oghren, his red beard blackened with mage fire, was searching the slaughtered dwarf woman for loot. Her chest was caved in by what could only have been the powerful blow of an axe.

"Nice sword," Oghren declared. "Hey, Keenan! This is good dragonbone. Nice and light. Maybe you could use a decent blade when the baddies get in your face."

Keenan managed a smile. "I'll think about it."

"My head hurts," Sigrun whispered. Quite abruptly, she bent over and vomited. Anders frowned in concern, and pushed himself up to come and have a look at her.

Anders and Morrigan were busy for some time, dealing with the injuries to the party. Topaz's burns were treated, leaving a big hairless patch on her neck. Ranger licked at it solicitously.

It would be impossible to move until everyone was healed and rested. The Taint scraped at his nerves, but Loghain told them all to stay here, in this chamber. Nothing seemed to be coming their way. Anders cast a rejuvenation spell at him, and Loghain instantly felt more himself.

Maude too, was looking better. "The Architect and his minions had pretty amazing loot, when all's said and done," she told him. She was at work picking the lock of an old bronze chest, long gone green with verdigris.

Morrigan was not so impressed. She sneered down at the dead Velanna, eyeing an amulet critically, and then tucking it away in her belt pouch. "The enchantments on what she _might_ have called robes are useless in this environment. Fool."

"I wonder what happened to her sister," said Sigrun. "She didn't seem so bad. She gave us the key to our cell, after all. Do you think—?"

"Probably," Maude shrugged, her attention on her lockpicks. "She's breeding—or about to breed—but not here, I'd guess. The Architect probably stashed her somewhere else secure. We'll just have to be vigilant for rumors of darkspawn sightings." Her efforts were rewarded at last. The lid of the chest was lifted back, squeaking a protest, and the treasures within were revealed. Maude murmured happily, her fingers questing through old gold coin and various jeweled ornaments.

"Perhaps," Loghain considered, "the Architect did as he said he was planning to do, and took her far below, where her offspring will never see the light of day."

"Bastard," Keenan muttered, gathering his arrows.

"You're absolutely right," Maude agreed. She rose gracefully, and went over to peer at the Architect's repulsive corpse. She kicked it with a vicious smile. "I wish we could kill him again."

Loghain snorted, and dug into the treasure chest. "Forget about the Architect. We still have the Mother to deal with. Here, Maude: have a nice ruby,"

She caught the jewel deftly with one hand, laughing. She held it up to her eye. "Ooo! Everything looks red. Or redder. With so much blood spattered everywhere it's hard to tell the difference!"

They rested a little more, and drank sparingly from their canteens. After another hour or so, they moved out.

The spiral staircase went down and down. More of the Mother's Children attacked them, squealing and skittering on the stones. At the lowest level, they found themselves in a round chamber that at first appeared to be without doors. Stinking and hideously spongy, Broodmother matter snaked over the floor and up the walls. The sensation of nearby darkspawn was overpowering. Loghain grimaced, peering into the shadows.

"This can't be the end…" muttered Sigrun. "Did we miss a passage?"

"No," Maude drawled, pointing. "There it is."

"Oh. _No…"_ Morrigan groaned.

Loghain turned and saw what they were looking at. A mass of moist red tissue pulsed on the wall before them. A puckering in the center looked something like—

Oghren took a breath and declared, "That is the world's dirtiest, ugliest cu—"

"Do not say it!" Morrigan snapped.

Anders was nonplussed. "You don't think _that's_ the way through? Do you?"

Maude cocked her head, nose twitching in disgust. She whispered to Loghain, "I really hope mine doesn't look like that."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said brusquely. This loathsome mockery of a woman's private parts was surely simply an accident… "Yes, of course it's the way through. We can all sense darkspawn in that direction."

"Well, there's nothing for it," Maude said, squaring her shoulders. "Once more into the breach, dear friends…" Sword in hand, she slid sideways through the slimy, narrow opening. Ranger was after her, and Topaz after him.

One by one, they squeezed through the repulsive passage. The fetid tissue pressed in on them, clinging and sucking at them wetly. For a brief moment, Loghain was encased on all sides—a truly terrifying moment of darkness and stench—before emerging, slimed and stinking, into a vast cavern. Oghren popped out a moment later behind him, stumbling and cursing.

"By the Stone! Nearly got stuck in there. That's enough to put me off sex for life!" He caught Loghain's skeptical look and shrugged. "Today, anyway."

This place truly was enormous, lit by phosphorescent lichen and by cracks in the stony roof. Stalactites and stalagmites met and formed twisted columns. Clearly, this chamber had once been an important part of Drake's Fall. In the dim shadows, Loghain could make out the unmistakable shape of a Tevinter statue. Elaborately carved pillars plunged into empty air like rotten teeth, or lay in rubble among the ribs of long-dead dragons. Loghain moved forward to stand by Maude, and saw what she was looking at.

Perhaps a hundred yards away, at the end of a long and narrow stone pathway, was something that resembled a nest. At first, Loghain thought that he was seeing tall plants swaying in a breeze. Then he looked again and realized what it was.

The Broodmother was waiting, massive tentacles waving lazily to and fro. Lining the pathway were dozens of her misshapen grey eggs. Peering into the shadows, Loghain saw no hurlocks or genlocks; no talking darkpawn; no larval or mature children. The Broodmother was alone, but for this last, monstrous clutch of eggs.

At Kal'Hirol, the stench from the Broodmother pit had been nauseating. Here, the reek of horror and despair filled their mouths and lungs, seeped through their armor, burned into their flesh. It was death. It was darkspawn. It was everything that was female, defiled and perverted.

"Keenan," Loghain said quietly. "I want you to remain at the rear with Anders while we approach that creature. The eggs may hatch. If they do, they must be destroyed." He thought a second more and discreetly pointed to the left. "The two of you, move around to the side of the cavern…there. If the eggs hatch or we are otherwise attacked, you can shoot arrows and spells freely without us being in your way. "

Anders murmured. "I'll want to incinerate those eggs, whatever happens."

"Wait," Loghain ordered. "I'll try to speak to the creature. We need to know if it commands any forces elsewhere—and if so, where they are. When she attacks, destroy all her spawn immediately."

"'_When_ she attacks?' Is there any chance she's not going to attack?" Anders asked, looking hopeful.

Loghain snorted, and turned away. He gathered the rest of the Wardens, and together, they approached the monstrosity.

Atop the hill of flesh was the human remnant of the Broodmother. Graceful shoulders tapered away into blackened, withered arms. A slender waist widened into a shapeless mass bearing multiple pairs of breasts, each larger than the one above. As the Wardens advanced, the creature roused from its lethargy and lifted its head.

Loghain paused, hearing Maude's quick, frightened gasp. This was indeed no mindless monster. The Mother looked at them, its dark eyes both mad and comprehending, and it saw them and their purpose.

Yes, she had been human. And she had been lovely, once. Long dark hair clung wetly to Tainted skin. The first pair of breasts-her own-were distractingly perfect. She had been young when she was taken. Dark trails traveled down from her eyes, the tracks of bloody tears. Filth caked her chin. The mouth opened, not to scream, but to speak: the harsh and broken voice of an old, old woman issuing from the ruins of a fair and youthful face.

"If it isn't the hero of the hour!" the Mother cackled, grinning horribly at Loghain. "The slayer of the mighty Father, come to claim a reward! Oh, what a delicious day!" The filthy mouth smirked, as she cocked her head, curious. "Has the Grey Warden come to slay the Mother, too? Will she join the Father in oblivion?"

Maude cleared her throat. "The...Father? Do you mean the Architect?"

The Mother gestured dismissively with a claw-like hand. "He called himself that, but that did not change what he was. He said he wanted to free us, but all he gave us was silence." The cracked voice dropped to a hiss. "Dreadful...silence." Dreamily, she murmured, "Once we heard the beautiful Song, and we were at peace. He took that away...took that away..." She gazed on them: her beautiful eyes gleaming with blood and fire. "But now the Father is gone. The Mother can take her children deep into the dark, and care for them, safe and sound."

Maude stepped forward, her voice soft. "What is your name?"

The Broodmother stared her, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

"Your name?" Maude persisted. "Your real name, before your were taken by the darkspawn…"

"Taken?" The word was croaked out, hoarse as a raven. "Yes…I was taken…held down in the dark. Why do you make me remember such things? The Father was cruel, too… Such pain… They crowded me, smothered me…filled my body…my mouth…Such pain…they fed me meat, cramming it down my throat… I tried to spit it out, tried to turn my head, but after a time, the Song came, and I was at peace…"

"But what is your name?" Maude repeated.

"I am the Mother!"

"Yes, I'm sure you are," Maude answered, her voice soothing. "I'm sure you're a very good mother, too, to be so concerned for your children. You had children before, didn't you? They were taken, too, weren't they?"

"She does not remember…no…the first children…the Mother has grown strong, and her new children are strong, too…better…stronger…harder to kill…" Her head drooped, and she murmured, "The Song. We want the Song. Perhaps when the Mother is dead, she will hear the Song once more. Oh, let it come!"

"When you are dead," Maude spoke gently into the tense silence, "Your soul will be free of the horror done to you. It will rise to the Maker, and nothing will be held against you, for_ it was not your fault._ You will see your children—your true children-once more. What were their names?"

The Mother glanced up, eyes burning and crafty. "The Mother knows your ways. Oh, yes. You wish to kill her…kill her children…"

The whispers dwindled into silence. The Mother took a deep breath, and shrieked, "But she won't let you!"

Another shriek: a shriek so terrible that they were stunned, shocked, made senseless. The Mother's mouth opened wide, split four ways into a horror. She shrieked again, and then spat out a cloud of green poison.

Morrigan had crept up beside Maude, and was caught by the brunt of it. Her eyes rolled back and her breath seized up. For a horrible instant Loghain thought she would die then and there, but Maude dragged her away, and then was knocked aside by a massive tentacle.

It was a nightmare struggle. Loghain had thought the creature helpless, because it was immobile; had thought the tentacles would be as easily dealt with as those in Kal'Hirol. He had been wrong.

Later, he remembered this battle only in flashes. He remembered Oghren smashed against the stones, head first, lying as still as broken toy; Sigrun swarmed by hatching grubs, arms up to protect her face; Maude dodging and slashing, trying to cut her way through the tough tentacles, hard and dense as any dragon leather. There was Anders, setting the grubs afire, and the flames licking at them all; the dogs howling and baying as they tore at the Children, ripping them into twitching ooze; the hard, quick thunk of Keenan's arrows. Then there was Morrigan, rising, coughing, screaming back at the Mother, cursing a black, foul cloud of death on the creature.

He kept hacking, hacking; hacking at the mountain of flesh, trying to find a way to wound the invulnerable creature. The Mother spat more poison at him, and he sheltered behind his shield. He lowered it, and saw the Mother's eyes glaring at him, crazed and murderous. Then Maude was up, vaulting up over the sagging lower breasts, stabbing at the slender neck. A razor-sharp claw slashed out, ripping through her cuirass like a knife through a silk chemise. Maude pulled away, and the armor hung crazily, tripping her as she felt backwards, landing hard. Loghain roared and drove his sword into the massive body once more. The Mother shrieked on.

It seemed to last as long as the battle with the Archdemon; but here they were alone, under the earth, with no allies to support them, and no admiring public to applaud their efforts. This battle was a secret: one for only Wardens and the Mother herself.

Sigrun gave a yell as she cut through the tendons of a tentacle at last, and the thing curled in on itself like a dead insect. Morrigan froze another, and smashed at it, again and again, until it moved no more.

Maude stumbled up, the shreds of Sophia's Dryden's armor clanking to the stones, and dashed past him, parrying the Mother's claws. She cut off the appalling shrieking with a sword thrust that nailed the creature's tongue to the roof of her mouth.

The Mother's huge dark eyes widened in human fear and horror. Maude gritted her teeth, clenched her sword hilt, and _twisted._

Bloody gurgles choked out of the torn mouth. Maude twisted her sword again.

"Maker watch over you," she ground out. "It's... _not._..your fault."

A violent tremor shook the Broodmother, and she slumped forward, withered arms limp, blood drooling down her bloated body. It was over.

Maude collapsed to her knees, pooling bonelessly on the stones of the lair. "I think we're done here," she murmured. "I hope we're done here. I'm really tired…" She lay on her side, knees drawn up, silent and exhausted.

Anders downed another lyrium potion, and shot a healing spell her way.

Loghain wiped the blood from Topaz's face, and then from his own. Ranger trotted over to Maude, nosing at her and whining. His right hind leg was not quite right.

"Anders!" Loghain caught the mage's attention, and pointed at the dog.

"He's next," Anders promised.

Sigrun pulled off her ruined greaves, and let Anders heal her legs where the Childer grubs had gnawed on them. Keenan helped Oghren remove his dented helmet. The dwarf was nearly cross-eyed from his concussion. Anders limped among his patients, one by one, setting them right.

Maude made no attempt to loot the Mother's lair. Instead, she clambered up from her hands and knees, and stumbled over to Morrigan, who was lying on the filthy stones, recovering from the poison that had nearly shut down her lungs. Ranger sprawled wearily on his side, close to them.

Loghain had a look about. The cavern stretched out as if into infinity, but none of them were in any condition to go exploring. If the Mother had had more darkspawn in reserve, they would have attacked by now. He reached out with his Warden's sense...and felt nothing. A few yards from the Mother, swept away into a little depression, were some discarded rags and something with a faint, metallic gleam. He bent to pick it up, and found that it was a little gold amulet of Andraste, the engraving old and worn. Tangled in its snapped leather thong were necklets of wooden beads—the kind worn by children. He held them in his hand for a while, thinking.

All the eggs they could find were burned. Loghain considered camping overnight in the Mother's stinking nest a remarkably bad idea. The women, especially, seemed out of spirits. There might be an exit to the Deep Roads through the cavern—in fact, there almost certainly was— but it would take some time to find it, and they did not know where it would lead. Topaz brushed against his legs, urging him to go no farther.

He came back and hunkered down by Maude, who was staring blankly at the dead Mother. Her dirty face betrayed the white trails of tears. He dropped the pitiful relics into her hand. "These might be a clue to the woman's identity."

"Possibly," She peered at them. "We can ask around, but very likely we'll never know her name." She cleared her throat, and said, "I suppose it's good...in a way...to know the absolutely worst thing that can happen to you, and face it."

He squeezed her hand. Morrigan snorted, and turned her head away.

"No, really..." Maude insisted. "Sometimes you just have to know how bad it could actually be. That poor woman—"

"Right," Oghren scoffed, wincing at the pain in his head. "The 'poor woman' who nearly handed us our arses. Yeah, yeah, I understand. 'S'not her fault she was captured and turned."

"No. it wasn't her fault. It could happen to any woman. It could happen to me. It would be a terrible thing..." Maude said, wrestling with the idea, "to be a prisoner of your own body. It would be even more terrible to be unaware of it. Worst of all is to know you're a monster, and not to be able to do anything about it. I wonder if any of the Architect's disciples understand what he did to make them sentient. If so, we might see this again. If not, they'll either go hide in the Deep Roads, or we see individual menaces from time to time. But the Broodmothers are the greatest threat. We really should make a point of hunting them down, and destroying all of them we can."

"How many Broodmothers are there? How many darkspawn can one Broodmother...make? I mean, how long do you suppose they live?" wondered Sigrun.

"Well," Oghren shrugged, "how long do _darkspawn_ live, for that matter? I've never found anybody that knew. I suppose we could capture one and stow it in a dungeon at Soldier's Peak, and see what happens."

"Keep it as a_ pet,_ you mean?" Anders managed.

"More of a...test subject," Morrigan replied, remembering the term from Avernus' use of it.

"We're not doing that," Loghain said flatly, quashing the idea before it could gain support. "Darkspawn carry disease, and there will be people other than Wardens at Soldier's Peak. Beside, the darkspawn filth will undoubtedly spill out and spoil Maude's carefully laid plans for the decor."

"There is that," Maude agreed, still pensive. "Mind you, all of Sigrun's questions are good ones, and need answering."

Once they could all walk, they wanted desperately to leave this place. Maude paused, and asked Morrigan, "Can we burn her?"

"The Broodmother?" Morrigan eyed the mountain of dead flesh in disgust. "Twould take an effort, and create a great deal of smoke."

"I'd really like you to burn her," Maude insisted. "She used to be human. She shouldn't have to be in that horrible body anymore. I want her set free."

"I'll help," Anders sighed. "We'll need to leave when she really gets going, though. All that fat..."

Keenan looked sick, "Please...just don't."

Loghain got them together, and frowned at Maude, who was defiantly clutching the shattered remains of Sophia Dryden's armor to her chest. This was no time to argue with her, so he passed by. "Do it," he ordered the mages.

Bright yellow flames roared out, and swirled around the remains of the Mother. While they watched, the flames took hold and a horrible stink of scorched flesh filled the chamber.

"Move out," Loghain ordered, and led the way, glancing over his shoulder briefly for a glimpse of a vast body, withering in flame.

Back it was through the horrible birth canal, wincing as the wings of his helmet caught on the vile dead tissue. They made it out, one by one: a dismal group, reeking with Broodmother slime. Maude stamped up the steps, her ruined armor scraping and clanking with her every movement

"So much for my dower house," she muttered.

Up the steps, past the corpses of darkspawn and the remains of Utha and Velanna, now only two more dead ghouls. Maude paused, and then walked over to the grisly remnant of the Architect, and kicked him again. Hard.

At last they reached the great silverite door, standing invitingly open. Night air greeted them, blessedly cool and fresh. The dogs nearly knocked them over, wanting to be outside. Immediately they began rolling in the dust, and then ran about like crazed puppies. It was a long, dark, and silent walk back to the horses. Morrigan stumbled, grew impatient, and flew the rest of the way.

"Show-off," muttered Oghren.

"We'll have to make camp," Loghain said. "We can't possibly travel in the dark without at least one of the horses breaking a leg."

They had been forced to travel light, so they had no tents, no blankets other than horsecloths, and nothing to cook with. They at least had their dry rations, and the stream was drinkable. Within minutes, a fire was burning, their armor was removed, and Anders took another look at their wounds—after Morrigan took a look at his.

"You may as well throw that cuirass away, Maude," Loghain pointed out. "It's beyond repair."

"I_ love_ this armor," Maude said bitterly. "It was _gorgeous."_

Oghren grunted, helpfully direct. "It's trash now. 'Cept for the boots. Toss it."

Sigrun was determinedly cheerful. "We found tons of armor in that mine! Remember that black armor? It was really nice."

Loghain answered for Maude, as her pulled her close by his side to warm her. "It doesn't have griffons on it." He did not mention the magnificent set of Archdemon armor waiting for her at the compound. She already knew about that, and he did not want to upset her further, since she seemed to have taken against it.

The dogs snuggled close. Loghain was tired, and grateful for the warmth.

"All our armor got pretty bashed," Sigrun said after she had chewed through some jerky. "Except for Loghain and Morrigan's armor. That stood up really well."

"'Tis made from the Archdemon," Morrigan told her. "And there is more of the Archdemon left. Maude has an entire set of Archdemon armor in the Compound in Denerim. "

Loghain sighed. Morrigan would never learn tact.

"Wow," Sigrun breathed, "Archdemon armor."

"So…" Keenan winced over his bruises, and shifted his position gingerly. "Is it possible…"

Maude was still not talking, curled up between him and Ranger, so Loghain answered, "Yes, everyone gets Archdemon armor as long as it lasts. Anders," he said, with a grimace at the blond mage's remaining rags. "you need proper armor, too. Morrigan can advise you, as that armor of hers was of her own devising. Mere robes, however strongly enchanted, are not sufficient for dealing with regular darkspawn, much less the things we faced today."

Anders only grunted. The lad did not look particularly well. A blow across the ribs from one of the tentacles had done a lot of damage.

"However," Loghain took the plunge, feeling he must say something, "You all performed brilliantly today. We slew a High Dragon, an intelligent darkspawn mage—"

Maude snorted in contempt.

"-and a mad Broodmother. Any of those victories is a deed of extraordinary note. And we are all alive and largely unscathed. Yes, everyone here will have a set of Archdemon armor…and," he added, glancing down at Maude, who had subsided, half-asleep against his shoulder, "fifty sovereigns, in addition to a share in the loot of the Architect's mine." Maude made no protest, so she was either asleep or actually agreed with him.

There was a disbelieving silence, eventually broken by Oghren. "Fifty sovereigns?_ Gold_ sovereigns? Are you kidding me? Can the Wardens afford that?"

"Yes" Maude murmured sleepily. "Considering the coin we got from Orlais and Ostwick, we can certainly afford it. And everyone here deserves it. I'll crack open the pay chest when we get back to Vigil's Keep. Fifty sovereigns. That's a nice number."

"—and the stipend thingy too?" Oghren asked cautiously. Sigrun punched him.

"Yes, the stipend, of course," Loghain replied, wishing he could sleep. Someone had to stay on guard, even with their magical wards. "You would be due the stipend in any case."

"I've never had a piece of gold," Sigrun murmured in the contemplative silence. "In the Legion we're not supposed to have anything."

"Well," Loghain shrugged, glancing down at Maude, who was now snoring, very softly, "the Grey Wardens seem to believe in having quite a bit."

* * *

Maude was a bit more herself after her long sleep. Once the sun was up, cheerful and golden, she busied herself with saddling the horses. Their foodstuffs were exhausted, so it would be a hungry ride back to Amaranthine.

Loghain was painstakingly putting out their campfire when Maude stalked over, and spoke up.

"I have something to say, here where no outsiders can hear us. When I became a Warden, nobody told me much of anything. I knew I was supposed to fight darkspawn, but that was it. Grey Wardens have secrets layered on secrets, and I think it's ridiculous how the First Warden keeps us in the dark. This whole Calling thing, for example, seems very, very dodgy to me. I see no sense whatever in sending Wardens to the darkspawn, just so they can be made into powerful ghouls or Broodmothers."

Keenan protested this mildly. "We can't very well stay and run amok…"

"I agree," Maude nodded. "But there are sensible things one can do that are nice and painless. I understand the importance of being considerate and not upsetting the ignorant public or distressing one's fellow Wardens. Personally, I think an overdose of a sleeping draught, or a swallow of Quiet Death would be much more considerate to all concerned. Or arranging a hunting or riding accident, though that can go wonky. That's what I intend to do if I start turning all ghoulish. Just so everyone knows, and no one starts throwing a Going to Orzammar party for me. Not going to happen. And I strongly advise the same for all you, especially my sister Wardens. And that's what I have to say. So there."

"I have not the slightest intention of having a Calling at all," Morrigan declared. "I believe Avernus' improved Joining formula prevents Callings. Once we return to Soldier's Peak, I shall recreate Avernus' Joining potion, and distribute it to all who have not already had doses."

Sigrun finished buckling her battered armor, and considered their words. "Of course, I'm already dead anyway—at least legally. I have to agree that I'd do anything to avoid becoming a Broodmother. We're going to be in the Deep Roads a lot, probably, so if it ever looks like I'm going to be carried off by the darkspawn, can somebody please shoot me?"

"You're not going to be carried off by the darkspawn," Maude told her fiercely. "I won't _allow_ it. _None_ of us are joining the other team. If I see darkspawn trying to carry you off, I'll kill them all. How about that? Does that sound reasonable?"

"Reasonable for _you,"_ Morrigan laughed.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Josie Lange, Enaid Adernyn, sizuka2, Phygmalion, mille libri, Jyggilag, Kira Kyuuketsuki, JackOfBladesX, Judy, KCousland, Shakespira, Menamebephil, Zute Tyanilth, Angurvddel, mutive, Jenna53, Eva Galana, Iapetus, Lehni, and Graffiti My Soul. Yay! I'm done with Awakenings! No the story is not anywhere near over. I have at least one more story arc to complete, and maybe more. I really am considering sending Maude off to Kirkwall to peddle her dragon bits. It is entirely possible that she could bring back a Warden. Haven't decided whether it would be Carver or Bethany, though.  
_


	28. The Past is Always With Us

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 28: The Past is Always With Us...So Keep Your Sword Handy  
**

Delilah was in the city of Amaranthine to welcome them when they returned. Loghain was able to report to the Howes, brother and sister, that the Architect and the Mother were both dead, and their lairs destroyed. That much they had understood; and that would celebrated at Our Lady Redeemer in a few hours, after the Wardens had time for a bath and a meal.

He had not quite succeeded in making them understand Maude's heroic share in the victory. The Architect had been an enemy whose threat they grasped, and whom they could picture, however imperfectly. The Mother, in his recital, seemed to them more a pitiful victim vouchsafed a merciful death by Maude than the immensely powerful monster she had proved in combat. The reality of her—that she was indeed at once a pitiful victim and a powerful monster—was beyond the comprehension of those who had never seen her. The Howes were shown the relics, and agreed that it was unlikely that anyone would be able to identify the owner. Nathaniel said he would have them placed in the Chantry, and prayers said for the woman and her children.

Maude had made Loghain agree not to tell anyone about the dragon; because, she said, "then scavengers will come, and they'll see all the dragonbone, and they'll grab it before we can get there with our wagons, and that would be very depressing."

Delilah herself was not in the best spirits, though she tried hard to make a good appearance, and thanked both Loghain and Maude with gentle and earnest simplicity.

When Loghain took Nathaniel aside to question him about the Arlessa's pale face and red eyes, Nathaniel told him, "She's had some bad news, poor girl. She had a good friend in Amaranthine who was killed when the darkspawn invaded. The fellow was a shopkeeper here who was quite pleasant to her during the time when Father had her kept so closely. Delilah is very loyal to her friends."

"Of course," Loghain agreed.

Maude frowned at the news. When Nathaniel was out of earshot, she remarked, "A good thing I put a stop to that relationship and put Delilah in the High Seat of Amaranthine! She would have been killed, too!"

"Somehow," Loghain said, a little sharply, "I don't think that makes Delilah feel better about his death!"

She scowled, and looked away. "I'm sorry he's dead. I'm sorry that Delilah is sad. I understand that she was lonely and had no one, and any touch of human kindness must have meant the world to her. All the same, I can't say I'm sorry that I got her made Arlessa. I'd feel a lot worse if we'd stolen the arling from her, and she was one of those people thrown on the common pyre."

* * *

"I've put together twenty sovereigns for Aura," Maude told Loghain. She was cross-legged on the bed in their guest quarters, counting out the gold they had come upon in their latest nearly-fatal adventures. "She's decided to go home to Jader. It was nice of her to stay long enough to know whether we were all killed or not. Anyway, the ship leaves tomorrow. I don't see anything wrong with giving her a bit of traveling money."

"I suppose not," Loghain shrugged, frowning at his own reflection. Bloody folderol. The grand thanksgiving at the Chantry had been bad enough, but at least there he was in his armor and did not feel entirely like a fool. The Revered Mother had droned on and on, and there had been a great deal of cheering. And that was not all.

The guilds of Amaranthine wished to thank the Grey Wardens for saving the city, and of course, the guildsmen themselves. The thanksgiving was punctuated by the actual giving of gifts, rather than mere verbal thanks, however heart-felt. Some of the gifts included clothing. Rather welcome, actually, since neither he nor Maude had expected to spend three weeks in Amaranthine.

"You look very nice," Maude commented. "I suppose I should get dressed for the feast, too. And do something with my hair; though it's unlikely they'll start without us."

"It could be worse," he grunted ungraciously. Black and grey velvet. It was appropriate, and not gaudy, for which he should be grateful. On the other hand, he really needed no help remembering that he was a Grey Warden.

Maude's gown was grey and black, too; and rather striking. He liked the corset of black and silver brocade and the draped, assymetrical overskirt of black velvet. Somehow the guildmasters had their measurements. Probably filched by a servant from their clothes left at the Bann's estate, he surmised. Even Nida and Aura had been given new gowns—though Aura's was in decorous mourning. Both women had been very pleased.

At the very end of the ceremony in the Chantry— just when he thought it was over—Delilah stood up and proclaimed him Champion of Amaranthine. There was more cheering. Thus, once again, he was receiving more credit for a victory than he genuinely deserved. It was unfair to Maude, and a vexation to Loghain himself, who did not like to think of himself as a glory hound.

Speaking of hounds: where had Topaz and Ranger got off too? Was Topaz in heat? They were acting very peculiar, and that was not unknown with mabari mating pairs. Sometimes they became secretive, and hid. Whatever they were doing, they had better be ready to go tomorrow morning.

The Wardens would make an overnight stop at the Vigil to retrieve their gear there, and then they needed to get back to Denerim. Nobles would already be gathering for the Landsmeet. If they waited much longer, they would have to travel with Arlessa Delilah, and pleasant as she was, Loghain knew that Maude had had all of Amaranthine she wanted or needed for the foreseeable future.

Maude poked though a chest on the floor and then slipped into her gown and corset. "Lace me up, please."

That was not beyond his powers. Maude looked very nice in black and grey, too; and Loghain made a point of telling her so. She was taking the whole Champion of Amaranthine thing rather well, all things considered, and he wanted to keep her in a good humor.

"It's convenient to have something new for the Landsmeet, anyway," she agreed. "I hope we don't have to be up all night drinking. The earlier we leave tomorrow, the happier I'll be."

"What's in the chest?" he wondered, nearly tripping over it.

"Stuff," she answered helpfully. "My stuff. Don't look at me like that! I didn't take much of anything that isn't rightfully mine. Ow! Too tight."

He relented and loosened the laces before he tied them. Maude flipped open the chest and showed him the miscellany within. She snatched up a book bound in green calfskin.

"See that?" She pointed at the loopy, child-like inscription inside the front cover of _Kings and Queen of Ferelden._

"_Property of Maude Eleanor Rowan Haelia Moira Shayna Andraste Cousland. Her book and nobody else's. That means you, Fergus!"_

A laugh escaped him. "I'm absolutely sure your parents never gave you that name."

"That's not the point!" she shot back. "The book is _mine_. Just because I was an imaginative child and made up a wonderful name, doesn't make that book any less _mine!"_

She glared fiercely at Loghain. "This is all _stolen property_! Rendon gave Esmerelle absolute heaps of our things. This—"her voice dropped to a snarl, as she waved an elaborate little masterpiece of silver at him- "is Oren's naming-day cup. And this portrait miniature is my great-grandmother! I daresay most of the Cousland silver was melted down for coin, but I found these—" she pointed out a set of four shallow, exquisite wine goblets, incised with the laurel branches of Highever.

There was more in the jumble: a box of jewelry, a little jeweled amulet, a silver letter opener, more books, including a child's first primer and _The Dragons of Tevinter._

"And those are some nice topazes I found. I think Topaz should have a collar studded with them. Wouldn't that be darling? And these earrings I'm wearing. They were Mother's. At the bottom are some local histories of the North, with heaps about the Couslands. They aren't our copies, but that's too bad. Who knows if anything of the Cousland library was left? I'll check out the library at Vigil's Keep, too, for any genealogies."

Loghain sighed. "Just don't be too blatant, Maude."

"I won't," she assured him seriously. "I am the world's best book-stealer."

Dinner lasted longer than Loghain thought absolutely necessary, and he was praised and thanked again. Delilah, seeing the look in his eye, took the time and trouble to recognize Maude and the rest of the Wardens, which by then seemed a really good idea to Loghain.

Not that Maude was without notice. Their own guardsmen and Nathaniel Howe's archers had spread the word that Maude Cousland had killed an ogre and _two dragons_ single-handed in the Wending Wood Mine. The relics of said dragons had been seen by everyone at Vigil's Keep and were the source of much admiring speculation. Loghain scowled at a group of stupid young louts who were gazing cow-eyed at his wife. She was looking very pretty, of course; but it was insupportable, all the same.

The rest of the Wardens did not seem to care for glory; but were rather pleased and distracted by their new finery. Sigrun was nearly bouncing off the wall, enchanted by her yellow silk gown. She had never before in her life owned anything that could be described as a gown, and certainly nothing made of silk.

She babbled on about it, fueled by excellent wine. "Surface silk! Look at it, Oghren! This is real surface silk. This is fit for the head of a noble house! I like the color, too: it's like sunshine or those yellow flowers with the thorns. I like it so much."

* * *

Afterward, in private, Delilah ordered wine brought to them, as she and her brother discussed events with Loghain and Maude. The wine was brought quickly: fragrant, spiced, inviting. They gravely saluted each other, each lost in private thought. After they reviewed plans for the restoration of the city and the relief of the citizens, talk drifted to the upcoming Landsmeet, and what might come of it. Loghain agreed that he thought it extremely likely that Nathaniel would be confirmed as Bann of the city. Royal support would be necessary, but that was almost certain. Anora rather liked Delilah, and the young Arlessa had done well in a terrible crisis.

"I can see the Queen having no objection to it at all." He glanced at Maude, wondering if her assistance would be needed with Alistair. The King had expressed approval of Arlessa Delilah's quiet ways, and seemed to regard her as the hapless victim of an evil father. It was not so certain what he would think of Nathaniel, who was so very like Rendon himself. Like the best of a young Rendon, to be sure, but the physical resemblance was strong, and the King had been present at the confrontation, less than a year ago, between Loghain and Eamon Guerrin, where Howe had said some very unpleasant things to Maude… For that matter, her influence on Fergus would be absolutely essential.

"There is one thing…" Nathaniel blurted. "Maude, I still want to know…" He saw Delilah's anxious expression, and paused; and then set his jaw and went on. "…I still want to know how my father died."

Maude was in mid-swallow. She finished, her face a blank, and turned to him. "You're sure? I mean, are you _quite_ sure?"

Loghain shut his eyes. They had all had entirely too much wine. "I think that would be a very bad idea."

"So do I!" Delilah seconded him instantly. "Nathaniel. Let it go. What's done is done. Let the past bury the past."

"No," Maude said levelly, her eyes suspiciously bright. She set her goblet down, very slowly. "Loghain told me once that the past is always with us. It's perfectly true. Nathaniel will never let go of this until he knows everything. I've tried being oblivious to his provocations, but he just doesn't seem to get the hint. So, you know what? I'm going to tell him exactly what he thinks he wants to know. _Everything."_

"Maude…" Nathaniel looked briefly miserable, and then determined. "I understand revenge. I understand that Father killed your parents. You've done so much for Ferelden… You've been so kind to Delilah…I can forgive you for what happened with Father, but I just need to know if he suffered…"

"Oh?" Maude drawled dangerously. "You _forgive_ me?"

Loghain stiffened. Something awful was going to happen…

"Forgive. _Me?"_

"Maude…"

She exploded like an elemental grenade. "Well, _fuck_ your forgiveness, and _fuck_ you too, Howe!" Maude screamed out, gesturing explicitly and rudely with both hands.

Delilah's mouth dropped open in shock.

Maude shouted, "I don't give a _shit_ about your forgiveness. Your father was an evil fuck who needed to be put down like a mad dog, and I did it, but I didn't seek him out for revenge! I was fucking _busy_ trying to save Ferelden, in spite of nearly everybody in this Maker-forsaken country trying to_ kill_ me!"

She began pacing, her eyes wild. Delilah clutched her pearl-adorned head in her hands. Loghain glared at the stunned Nathaniel. The fool just _had_ to set her off…

"Nobody understood that we were all going to _die!_ Nobody! Except for the useless cowards who up and fled to the Free Marches. The nobility were all completely blind to the danger-even the Guerrins, because all they could think about was the succession! Everybody was going to _die_ unless I stopped the Blight. "

She paused, then muttered mostly to herself. "No. That's not fair. I should have gone to Wulffe and made common cause with him, but I didn't _know_ what was happening in West Hill. At least _he_ wouldn't have conflated the mortal threat to all life as we know it with putting his own boy on the throne! Or Cousin Leonas. Crap. I should have gone to him right away, but I wasn't thinking clearly after being killed at Ostagar…"

Delilah put out her hands beseechingly to Loghain. He shook his head. It would be useless to interrupt Maude now, and might even make her more violent. Nathaniel looked between Maude and Loghain, absolutely speechless. Loghain sneered back at him. Young Howe hadn't realized until now that what Maude had endured over the past two years had left her more than a little unhinged. Tonight, she was _dangerously_ unhinged.

"Everything depended on _me!_ " Maude declared, pacing like a wild animal that has been kept prisoner too long. "Everybody's life was in my hands. If I screwed up, or ran away, or got myself killed, it was all over. None of you know what that's like! _None_ of you! If I failed, Ferelden would be completely destroyed. Everybody I knew would be _killed!"_ She snarled at Loghain, "_Not_ live under a tyrannical Orlesian king! _Not_ be forced to speak a filthy foreign language! _Not _be taxed off their lands! _Not_ have to put up with the _droit de seigneur!_ They would _die! _Every _last one of them!_ And _everybody_ kept throwing obstacles in my way. And it's not even like I _wanted_ to be a Grey Warden. I _wanted_ to stay and die with my parents, but Duncan was there to recruit a Grey Warden, and he slugged me and carried me out. I was upside-down when I had my last glimpse of of Mother and Father looking after me, and then we were out the door and on to Duncan's grand agenda. Yay, Duncan! So… soon it's just me and Chantry Boy and my handful of tatty thousand-year-old treaties and my band of cast-offs and misfits; and from then on it's _'Oh, Grey Warden! Lift the curse! Slay the dragon! Find my cat!'" _

She took breath, and poured out her frustration like dragon fire. "'Save my son, save my daughter, save my husband, save my friends, save the mages, rescue the villagers, stop the zombie apocalypse, destroy the werewolves, pass the lethal tests of Andraste, kill the fucktard bandits and assassins and thugs who _will not_ stop getting in my face. And while you're at it, play nice with Templars utterly paralyzed by their fear of magic; with a moribund dwarven culture that indulges in power games while their people shrivel away; with hostile, haughty Dalish elves who would just as soon shoot me in the back as talk to me.' And all these people who are _obligated by treaty_ to ally with me demand that I prove my _good faith_ by performing impossible feats that they're all too dickless to take care of themselves. I do the impossible, and I'm oh-so-fucking-tactful-and-concerned-until-I-think-I'm-going-to-puke-in-their-faces, because they would actually rather _die_ than admit their fossilized world views have become meaningless in the shadow of the Blight_!"_

She stopped suddenly, and whirled on them. "But that's not all!" She posed like a demented orator, one hand up, eyes wide and rolling. "While I am doing all these things, the leaders of my country had decided to make a scapegoat of me, and trash my name and my family's name for their own ends! After I recovered from my mortal wounds at Ostagar—"

"—That's another story," Loghain muttered to the Howes, slumped on a bench, resigned to the vituperation. How could he defend the indefensible? Besides, this might be his only chance to hear the whole of what had happened to her.

"—I head north, and I first learn of my criminal status from an impudent bandit, who when I tell him I'm a Grey Warden, smirks at me and says, 'Grey Warden, eh? Traitors to Ferelden, I hear!' And then he tells me that I killed the King and betrayed the army!"

"So you killed the bandit," Loghain finished wearily. He lowered his voice and muttered, "—and took his stuff."

"Of course I did!" she blazed. "And he was only the first of many!" She resumed her pacing, her eyes darting from side to side as if looking for enemies in every corner. "In Lothering, a crowd of starving refugees heard of the bounty on me, and told me they didn't care whether I was innocent or guilty. All they cared about was feeding their families _that day_, and I hadn't developed my diplomatic skills yet, so I stood there gaping as these desperate, half-armed fools threw themselves at me. And I killed them, too, every one, which probably means that by extension I killed their families, who starved or were slaughtered by the darkspawn because they couldn't get away without the man of the family!"

She seized the decanter and poured herself more wine, gulping it down recklessly. "Being honest just got innocent people killed, I discovered," she said, waving her goblet. "So I learned to shut up about the Grey Warden thing when necessary, and when I arrived in Denerim, the walls were covered with posters of an ugly, shifty-eyed woman purported to be me—"

"That was the second printing," Loghain interrupted her. "The first lot of posters looked like you, but people kept taking them down, cutting off the words, and using them to decorate their homes…" He did not tell them that it was Howe's idea to change the face on the poster to that of a woman whom the common folk could believe was a traitor and a regicide.

"I want one," Maude said instantly, and then went on with her raving.

"Anyway, so I'm dragged to Denerim to go to the Landsmeet, because it's much more important to decide who gets to be Big Dog, rather than defend the country from the darkspawn. I arrive at Arl Eamon's ridiculously overdone city estate. If you've ever been to that pit of squalor that is Redcliffe Village, you'll understand my indignation. Who should be the first callers but Loghain, his trusty minion Cauthrien, and your dear old Dad, now Teyrn of Denerim, Teyrn of Denerim, and Arl of Amaranthine, and so pleased with himself that he was practically floating an inch above the dirty bare ground. So then I'm condescended to by Loghain here, who called me a foreigner!"

"I did not call you a foreigner—" Loghain tried to protest.

"—Who called me a _foreigner!"_ she snarled at him, "when I'd been practically _killing_ myself trying to save my country. And Cauthrien called me a _churl,_ and told me to shut up when my _betters_ were speaking, and since I was trying to play by the stupid rules, I did not point out that nobody in that room was my _better._ In fact, aside possibly from Alistair, who was the unacknowledged son of a king, my birth was better than _anybody's_ there, especially that smug cow's. And you know what? Fuck Alistair anyway, because any Cousland is worth a thousand Theirins any fucking day. And my mother was a Bryland and a Pengallon, and _his_ mother was a Redcliffe housemaid, so there!

"And then I demanded blood rights for the murder of my family, and your father, Nathaniel, _laughed_ at me and said I _had_ no rights. And by the way, Loghain, criticizing me in front of the Landsmeet for killing Rendon instead of bringing charges him before the seneschal was just about the most hypocritical and morally-bankrupt thing you ever said. What the _fuck_ did you think was going to happen, when the arbiter of civil law in Denerim said I had _no rights?"_

"Maude…" Nathaniel tried to stem the tidal wave of wrath. "No one doubts that you've suffered, but…"

"I'm _talking,_ Nathaniel," she snarled, looking like she might go for a knife at any moment. "You wanted to hear what happened, and I'm _telling_ you."

Delilah clutched at her brother's arm and shook her head. Noticing Delilah seemed to take the edge off Maude's wrath for the moment, for her voice smoothed a little, and she went on, a little more rationally.

"I'm not angry with you, Nathaniel, and I'm certainly not angry with Delilah. It was hard, but I had make myself remember who was at fault and who wasn't. Revenging myself on innocent people would be very wrong. Why should you suffer for what your father did? Why should the Howes be dispossessed at all? They weren't after the Rebellion, and old Tarleton Howe was as big a swine as your father. And Bann Ceorlic was allowed to inherit Lothering, when his father actually _murdered_ Queen Moira! Your father might have used my father's imaginary treason as an excuse to kill little boys, but I hope I'm not that far gone… Sometime I'll tell you about this crazy Dalish elf, who revenged himself for the murder of his children by cursing people who hadn't even been _born_ at the time. It was stupid and very _wrong_…"

She shook herself. "Anyway, there I am in Denerim, and the Queen's maid comes to see Arl Eamon with a story that the Queen needs me to rescue her from Arl Rendon. This maid, who I'm convinced was trained as a bard, gives me this big sob story about the Queen visiting Rendon, and how he said terrible things to her and locked her up, and she's in dreadful danger, because her father is plotting to kill her—"

"_What!"_ Loghain shouted.

"—which I don't believe for a minute, but Arl Eamon pretends to. What _was_ a fact was that the Queen was requiring me to do something, and as a loyal Fereldan subject I was obliged to obey, even though it was obviously a trap. So I did. I wasn't going to lead Alistair into that mess, so I took Morrigan, Oghren, and Zevran." She smirked at the Howes. "Zevran is a Crow assassin your father hired to kill me. He decided he liked me better."

She rolled her eyes. "What a charade! Erlina—that's the maid—meets us outside the Arl of Denerim's estate and is all cloak-and-daggery: daintily wiping her eyes and wringing her hands and mincing around in her insufferable Orlesian way until I wanted to punch her in the face. She made us put on _disguises,"_ she said, very disgusted, "and _sneak_ into the servants' entrance. So we sneaked very sneakily, and found the room where the Queen was being held. So far so good. We're ready to spring her, when she announces that the door is magically locked—which it really was—and that the mage who locked it is with Arl Howe at that very moment."

She shrugged. "So I am totally being set up to be killed. It's clear that the Queen either wants me dead or Howe dead or both of us dead. I love not dying when other people want me to, so you know what? I'll bite. The maid tells me that Howe is in the dungeons, and I can access them from his bedchamber."

"There was an entrance to the dungeons off my father's _bedchamber?"_ Nathaniel asked, horrified. Delilah looked at him sadly.

"I _told_ you," she whispered, "he had changed. Something was wrong with him."

"I agree," said Maude, with an airy, dismissive wave. "Something probably was. I don't know what. He'd gone totally around the bend, and I had to deal with the consequences. I don't know if he'd been tricked by Orlesian agents or cursed by a blood mage or if he was just brain-sick, but he had to go. So I've been in a lot of dungeons, but these were the worst ever. I don't know what sawing women in half and buggering men with wire brushes has to do with making Ferelden safe, but your Father was certainly putting his best foot forward along those lines. And don't even think of giving me that line about making hard choices. You know what's _hard?_ Trying to keep the peace when you're not sure people can be trusted. What's _easy_ is killing them all, and all their children and servants and guests; or to torture people because you can always get a confession of _something_ if you pour molten lead in people's ears. Anyway, I killed all the guards and torturers and torturers' assistants and torturers' apprentices, and I found a lot of people who shouldn't have been locked up, and a lot of them were off their heads, and finally I opened a door and found your father." She smiled wolfishly. "We are coming to the part of the story that you actually want to hear, and I insist on telling it my way."

She leaned back against a tapestry, and took a deep breath. "So he had two mages and two guardsmen with him, and I had one mage and two warriors with me, so I would like to point out right now that I was outnumbered, but fuck that, because I am ridiculously awesome in battle. But I didn't attack right away, because your father was a gloater, and if you can get a gloater to talk, you find out all sorts of interesting things. Actually, I should have killed him on the spot, because events were transpiring above my head about which I knew nothing, but enough of that. Rendon smirked at me, and said, _'So…Bryce's little spitfire. All grown up and still playing the man.'"_

She blew out a breath. "I pointed out that I played the man a whole lot more creditably than he did, but he sneered, and gloated some more about how all the Couslands were dead except for me, and I was a useless husk of a Grey Warden: if I hadn't been marked for death I'd be good for nothing but dying under a rock in the Anderfels. That didn't hurt much, because being a Grey Warden was forced on me, so it's not like he could to make me feel bad about my choice of career. He was really proud of his cunning, and told me some of his plans for Ferelden and Anora after you, Loghain, got rid of the darkspawn for him. Yes, you should have thought about entrusting your _unmarried_ daughter to an _unmarried,_ ambitious nobleman. But you didn't. She didn't either, which was extraordinarily careless of her. I don't think that particular gambit even occurred to her. Howe's plan, as far as it went, was pretty sound, I thought. Anyway, it's all blood under the bridge now."

Loghain was shocked motionless: taken aback at the pit he had dug under his own feet. He said nothing. He would certainly not mention Howe's persistent attempts to make a match between Loghain and Delilah, whom her father had sequestered ever so carefully. Loghain was a wretched failure as a politician, but even he had grasped how short Anora's life would be if he took the throne with Howe's presumably fertile daughter as Queen. He had been blind: stupidly blind to the threat of Howe trapping Anora in a forced marriage.

Maude gave them an eerie smile. Her face was painted crimson by the dying firelight: her dark eyes were sunk into her head like those of a skull. "From there, it all became very…personal. He called the Couslands traitors again, which I still don't get. I mean, my father had already sent on the Highever forces with Fergus. If Rendon suspected Father of treason, it would have been the easiest thing in the world to arrest him and take him straight to the King. But he didn't. As far as I can see, all he had was envy and my father's diplomatic success in Orlais and my mother's silk gown. Other than that, he had nothing. Because he had nothing, he went for the heirs, and then he tried to cover up the massacre as a raid by anonymous mercenaries. And Father's old friends in the Landsmeet swallowed the lie because, hey, the Couslands are dead and can't grant them favors any more. Bastards." She scrubbed furiously at her eyes, and after a moment, went on.

"And then he got even nastier. He boasted about how he threw that_ 'Antivan whore and her brat' _into a cesspit to rot. He was speaking, if you had not already realized it, of my lovely and gentle sister-in-law Oriana and my six-year-old nephew Oren. And by the way, don't say their deaths were an accident, because your dad's men knew perfectly well whose rooms were whose. You know why I know that? This creepy guardsman of his had asked me that afternoon if I was Maude Cousland. And there he was outside my bedchamber after midnight, heavily armed, with his bestest friend, telling him that he wanted first go at the Teyrn's daughter. So Ranger and I killed them—the first men I ever killed. I don't think they were expecting a mabari. And Mother ran out of her chamber, struggling into her armor. We saw the men's insignia, and she understood right away what had happened. Oriana's door was closed, but we rushed in to see if she was all right. But she wasn't. A couple of Howe men had thrown her face-down over a footstool with her skirt pushed back, and one was pumping away at her while the other was holding little Oren up like a bloody doll, making sure Oriana could see him. Oren was already dead by the time we opened the door."

Delilah made a small, dreadful sound.

Maude's huge eyes were fixed on the memory. "And the one in her was angry because she wasn't moving enough to please him, so he was stabbing her in the side with his dagger—like this," she gestured with quick violence, "to make her jump. Again and again. Oriana wasn't screaming because they had stuffed a stocking in her mouth. Mother went for the bastard who had Oren, and I grabbed the rapist's hair and pulled back his head and nearly sawed his head off. We were…distraught. They knew who Oriana was, all right. They wouldn't have dared do what they did without permission. Oriana…wouldn't even try to live afterwards."

Maude shrugged at their shocked faces. "I guess your father was still pissed off about Fergus not marrying you, Delilah. Anyway, I was telling you about that day I caught him in the dungeons. He bragged about Oriana and Oren, like I said, and then he told me what he did to my mother, and that it was the last thing my father saw. I suppose I'll write in my memoirs that it was that she had to kiss his foot or something equally innocuous. Of course it wasn't that at all. I suppose he thought he would make me angry…and stupid. He was half right. I don't remember very much of what happened afterwards. I saw everything in a kind of red mist, because all of a sudden I was reliving that night of blood and death at Highever. If it means something to you, you can be assured I didn't torture your father. I didn't do any of the things he did to my family to him. I didn't gut him, or castrate him, or kill his children in front of him, or have him raped, or put him on his favorite rack. I just killed him in a stand-up fight. He was no coward, whatever else he was. I ran him through the gap in his armor under his arm, and he died him pretty fast. When he was down and bleeding out, I leaned in—carefully—to hear his last words." She smirked at Nathaniel. "And they were not about his beloved family or his beloved country, by the way, but were: _'I…deserved…more.'_"

No one said anything, and that seemed to irritate Maude. "So he's dead, and the mage is dead, and I go back to finish rescuing the Queen from a fate worse than and probably including death. She comes out of the room—dressed in a _guardsman's armor!_ I ask you. There's nothing to be done but play the game to the end, so we head out of that narrow passage from the guest quarters to the entry hall, and who should be waiting there but Ser Cauthrien and a company of mixed foot and archers."

Loghain looked up at her and was not surprised at her expression.

Maude snorted, "Somehow, Cauthrien had just _happened_ to hear all about my wicked murder of poor Rendon Howe, and I was called on to surrender—'and I might be shown mercy!' What a laugh! I considered fighting my way out, and that would have killed a lot of people, and Anora might have been injured—even killed—herself, so that was no go, since the entire point of the exercise was to _rescue_ her. And I took a look at Her Majesty, just wondering if I could expect any intervention there, and I caught her eye for just a second and I knew I couldn't. I'll bet any amount of coin that she would have claimed that I was a vicious kidnapper. So I surrendered, and Anora and her little toady Erlina scuttled out of there and headed to Arl Eamon, which personally I still think was a really bad move. Cauthrien wasn't interested in anybody but me—understandable if foolish of her—and so I was the one who got the crap kicked out of her and dragged off to Fort Drakon, where I was stripped naked and slugged again. That's not really part of the story, though, because of course I escaped and took back all my stuff and more. And I forgive Cauthrien because she's a great warrior and defended the people of Denerim. It wasn't clear to me until later that the Queen was hedging her bets and had summoned Cauthrien—probably anonymously— herself. That was pretty mean and rotten, since I was there at her behest to _save_ her, but I forgive her, too, because she's the only queen we've got, and she's going to have a baby, and she didn't know that Ferelden was doomed without me. And then I won the Landsmeet and Loghain became a Warden, and I forgave him for being horrible to me, and we saved Ferelden, blah, blah, blah. And my big reward is that I'm still a Warden. Go me."

She looked her audience of three over, eyes narrowed. "So whenever you feel hard done by, be comforted by this: Amaranthine lost some land, but Fergus lost his parents, his wife, and his two children—yes, two. Oriana was three months pregnant. And the night Fergus left, Oren begged him to bring him a sword. Fergus hugged him, and his last words to him were a promise that he'd 'being seeing a sword really soon…'"

Delilah choked. Maude went on ruthlessly. "So yes, if you need to feel revenged, think of those words, which Fergus has to live with for the rest of his life. Now I'm done here, and I'm going to get some sleep, and I'm leaving early in the morning. None of you will ever know how I feel, and none of you know _shit_ about forgiveness."

The echoing silence that followed her departure was eventually broken by Loghain.

"Howe," he said wearily. "In future, remember that ripping off a scab is not the best way to heal a wound."

Terribly distressed, Nathaniel only managed, "You don't understand! That's not the Maude I've known since childhood. She's been driven mad! Completely mad!"

"Nathaniel," Delilah pulled her brother to her side, her face older than her years. "Of course she's changed. We've all changed, and not for the better. Do you understand at last what I've been telling you? Father did this! He poisoned our lives. He _killed_ Thomas with his scheming. Don't bring him up anymore. It causes nothing but pain."

Nathaniel shook his head. "She's_ mad."_

Loghain gave him a level look. "Only when stubborn individuals deliberately set her off. Besides, she has just cause, for everything she said is true."

* * *

After a walk on the ramparts to clear his head, Loghain was surprised —and very relieved— to find Maude in their guest quarters, already undressed and in bed. He paused in the doorway, studying her. At rest, with her eyes closed, and illuminated by a single candle and the embers in the grate, she looked very young.

Trying not to disturb her, he began quietly working on his boots and laces. If she knew he was here, she would very likely throw him out.

"I hear you."

Those words, in a girl's soft voice, awakened a flood of sweet and painful memories. Rowan had said those very words in the dark of the Deep Roads, when she was at the lowest ebb of her spirits. Maric's open dalliance with Katriel had humiliated the proud daughter of the Arl of Redcliffe, and Rowan had turned to Loghain for validation and comfort.

But the girl on the bed was not Rowan, though she, too, seemed in poor spirits. Maude's dark eyes opened, and gazed up at the ceiling. Loghain sat on the edge of the bed, and stroked her hair out of her face.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here," he said quietly.

"Where else would I go?" she replied. "Should I not sleep in a bed because Nathaniel provoked me and I made a horrible, embarrassing scene?" She sighed, still not looking at him. "I thought unburdening myself would make me feel better, but it doesn't. I'm sorry Delilah had to hear that. But I don't take back a single thing I said. It was all perfectly true."

"I know. I thought perhaps you were still angry with me."

"I'm not angry with you. I told you long ago that being a Warden makes up for everything. I was angry at the_ past."_ She turned on her side, frowning. "—And I suppose I'm still angry at Rendon Howe and at Duncan. I'm still a bit angry at Nathaniel for saying he _forgave_ me. I know I was horrid, but I could have been worse, and said what I thought about him staying safe in the Free Marches during the worst crisis in Fereldan history!"

"I'm very glad you didn't," Loghain said, sliding into bed beside her. "Now try to calm down and get some sleep. We'll be out of here in the morning."

"Can we leave very, very early? Before anyone else is up?"

"No," Loghain said firmly, soothing her with his fingertips. "We are not sneaking out of here. We'll have a good breakfast, say our farewells properly, and ride out of here with quite a bit of our dignity intact."

"That's good, I suppose," Maude agreed, pushing his hand a little lower. "That will give me more time to pack everything I found."

* * *

The Feddics were in Amaranthine with their wagon, ready and willing to cart the Wardens' belongings for them. Their guardsmen were glad to be going home as well. Loghain was relieved that he could return them to Anora largely undamaged.

It was a very restrained and quiet breakfast at the Head Table. Maude was limpidly, impenetrably polite; Loghain impassive, and the Howes quiet and sorrowful. Bows and thanks were exchanged. Loghain's new title of Champion of Amaranthine was reaffirmed, and there was nothing else to do but escort Aura to the docks and see her safely onto the ship that would return her to Jader.

She had been treated generously not only by the Wardens and the guildsmen of the city, but by Arlessa Delilah herself. Perhaps there was some secret fellow-feeling there. Delilah, before Aura left, spoke to her personally about her husband's sacrifice, and gave her an onyx mourning ring set in heavy gold, plus a substantial purse of coin. The lovely blonde woman stepped onto the deck of the ship, drew the customary Orlesian mourning veil over her face, and waved a last goodbye.

Anders said, "The mourning veil is a good idea on shipboard for such a pretty woman traveling alone."

Morrigan only harrumphed, but Maude agreed with him. "I suppose so," she said. "Veils can be very useful. Like masks, only more subtle."

Loghain grimaced at the idea of revolting Orlesian masks, but took her point.

After so much casting of Haste in the past few days, their half-day's ride to Vigil's Keep was a slow amble. Delilah and Nathaniel would remain in the city, overseeing its restoration, and would leave for the Landsmeet in seven days. The Wardens would have the Vigil to themselves, the only representative of local authority there being the well-disposed seneschal Varel. Loghain and Maude had already agreed that they would stay there only one night and then be off. They could travel from the Vigil to Denerim in a long day's journey, especially now that the Wending Wood had been purged of its perils.

The dogs looked smug and sleek: coats shining and scrubbed; well-fed on dainties from the Arlessa's table and handouts cadged from half of the city of Amaranthine. Maude chattered happily to them, promising Topaz her very own Archdemon hide collar and a special jeweled one for dress-up.

Nida rode pillion behind her husband, but would have her own horse hereafter. The horses of the deceased Wardens had survived the assault on the fortress. That was a substantial string of horses, and a major resource. Loghain played with the idea of breeding horses on Warden lands. Not in the mountains, but perhaps in a farm purpose-built, in the flatlands near the coast. Horses were not vital to fighting, at least from the Warden's standpoint, but they helped immeasurably as transportation, and they might also be a source of income. The land granted to the Wardens was not as large as an arling, but it was larger than any single bannorn in Ferelden. It was also thinly populated, which meant that there was land to be had, and land to be dedicated to useful purposes. The Wardens would not only be self-sufficient, as far as possible, they would help rebuild Ferelden's economy.

Yes, horses. Perhaps some gold would buy a first-rate stallion, maybe an Antivan barb or a Frostback Traveler. Those latter were sturdy beasts, but the former would breed desirable saddle horses for the wealthy. Horses, yes—and sheep. Satisfying Warden appetites would take a lot of food production, and sheep would suit the Coast Mountains better than cattle. And would bear wool, too.

It was very pleasant, not to be worried about matters of state, but simply about their own territory and how to make the most of it. That had been what he had loved about Gwaren in those first few years, before Rowan died and Maric needed him again.

Well, Gwaren had passed on to Anora now, and perhaps someday to a grandchild of his. It was best not to interfere, but to concentrate on the present.

He glanced over at Maude, who seemed fixed on her own thoughts as well. She seemed relaxed and at peace. He would take care never, ever to mention her breakdown last night.

"Are you thinking about Soldier's Peak?" he asked.

She blinked. "No. But that is a nice thing to think about. I was thinking about dragons, actually. And Kirkwall, City of Chains. My father knew the last viscount, Perrin Threnhold, quite well. I suppose he met Marlowe Dumar as well, but I'm not sure. I'll have to ask Fergus. Anyway, I am sure we'll get a far better price if we sell some of the bones and so forth abroad without a merchant to take a cut. Kirkwall is a logical place, but there's also Antiva or Ostwick. I'm related to the Teyrn of Ostwick, after all. Still, there's more money in Kirkwall."

"There's no reason we have to go ourselves," he grumbled.

"Yes, there is!" she disagreed. "I am certain I can not only get a better price than any merchant I know, but I can also protect our dragon things better. They are our capital, and it's unlikely we'll ever have so much at one time again. We _must _make the most of it. On our way to Soldier's Peak, we can stop and collect all the treasure from Kal'Hirol, and then scour the Dragonbone Wastes for everything we can lay our hands on. We'll need several wagons."

"We have the Landsmeet to get through first," he pointed out. He was not looking forward to it, Champion of Amaranthine or no.

"I've thought about that, too," Maude said. "I want to know what Anora has to propose that will make the Crown takeover of the Denerim arling palatable. I can't see Eamon ever going for it, since he wants it so badly for Teagan. Not that I wouldn't like Teagan to be an arl, but there is no way I want two Guerrin arls in the Landsmeet."

"Nor I," he grunted, "which is why I tried to remove Eamon from the Landsmeet long ago."

"And there is simply nobody else I would give an arling to—other than _me,_ and I'm not eligible. Not one of those dolts did anything in the war worth an arling, not even Teagan, for that matter, though he is a thoroughly decent fellow." She took a long drink from her canteen. "Of course, the problem is that the Crown also holds Gwaren. An arling and a teyrnir may just seem too big a bite for the Crown to swallow. Frankly, I agree with that myself. I know you want to help Anora, but I think she's overreaching. I understand the logic of the Crown have direct control of the Denerim arling. I understand the propriety of Anora inheriting Gwaren. I just don't think both those things can happen at once. And so far, I just don't see why Fergus, for example, would agree to it."

* * *

At sunset the next day, they were at the gates of Denerim, and given a welcome fit for heroes. Maude had found some armor that would fit her—a striking black jerkin of dragonhide looted from the Wending Wood mine—and considered herself almost fit to be seen. She was still mourning Sophia Dryden's armor. The pieces were in the wagon with the rest of their loot, but it was obviously that not even the skill of Master Wade could put them back together again. At best, the armor would make an interesting relic for display at the Peak.

Loghain had taken the time to speak to the admirable dwarven engineers, and promise them employment when they were finished at Vigil's Keep. He had some ideas about the Peak's defenses. It was a splendid fortress, but there was always room for improvement...

The remains of the dragons killed in the mine would be sent on later. There was quite a bit of material there, after all, and to tan the hides properly would be a long process. Maude left the workmen sufficient gold for their labor and the cartage, and looked forward to all sorts of interesting leather accessories. As promised, Maude had opened their pay chest, and each Warden was fifty sovereigns richer. There was great excitement at dinner last night.

Meanwhile, they all looked presentable, and most were smiling. Anders insisted on wearing his blue velvet doublet, the gift of the guildsmen of Amaranthine, on their ride through the city. Loghain thought he looked more like Maric than ever. The boy _would_ be measured for armor as soon as possible, and _would_ wear it; and there was an end of it.

Drum and trumpets and an honor guard with banners met them at the gates and escorted them to the Palace. Their wagons and horses were diverted to the Wardens' Compound, and the Wardens themselves were led straight to the throne room for royal thanks. Alistair and Anora looked like grand golden statues on the high dais. Sigrun shuffled, nervous and embarrassed, until warmed by Maude's reassuring smile. Keenan ducked his head bashfully, while his wife bloomed like flower in the summer sun. She was a comely woman, after all, and knew she looked well in her new gown.

That over, they could get away to the Wardens' Compound to settle in. All but Loghain and Maude, of course, who were asked to join Their Majesties for a private audience. Loghain was happy enough to see Anora, but hoped dinner would be soon. Alistair being Alistair, of course, there were snacks in the private sitting room.

Nearly a month had passed, and there was much to discuss. Anora was even more visibly pregnant. She had taken to wearing gowns that accentuated it. Loghain embraced her, felt the baby bump, and understood that she was glorying in her manifest fertility. She was absolutely radiant. No one at the Landsmeet was going to be able to ignore her condition. An heir for Ferelden was well on the way.

The dogs stayed nicely at heel, and at his command sat simultaneously, like the matched pair they were. Even Anora, who had been afraid of dogs in childhood, had a smile for them.

"You have a dog now, Father? She's lovely."

"This is Topaz, our new friend."

Topaz wagged her stubby tail politely at Anora, but really had eyes only for him. She smiled doggily, however, and sat very straight, with a fine sense of the occasion.

Alistair was very pleased to see Maude, rather pleased to see the dogs, and not particularly pleased to see Loghain himself.

"Loghain."

"Your Majesty."

That was all, but it was enough for civility. Chantry Boy wanted to know all about talking darkspawn and the attack on Amaranthine. Loghain let Maude tell the tale, since she would do it more vividly than he had in Amaranthine. She did: with the addition of expansive gestures and sound effects. Their Majesties were impressed. Maude really should have been a bard. Alistair relaxed enough to scratch the dogs' ears, in between bites of sausage and cheese.

Loghain tried to intervene a little when Maude was described the horror of the Mother: he did not like Anora to hear about it. She, however, insisted, and was nearly overcome. Alistair looked sick. He, of course, had actually seen and fought a Broodmother, and thus he was able to grasp the unspeakable nature of a sentient one.

"That's just about the worst thing I've ever heard," the boy said seriously. "I know there must be more Broodmothers, way down in places like the Dead Trenches, but for her to be right here in Ferelden, just under the ground…it's…well…"

"I know exactly what you mean," Maude soothed him. "It was very sad and very horrible, but we took care of it. The Architect is dead, and can't do that to anyone else. We'll send a report to Weisshaupt, of course, and ask if there have been other sightings of talking darkspawn, but we're pretty sure the worst is over. Any other darkspawn we see should be the usual mindless monsters, who haven't been able to figure out how to get back to the Deep Roads."

"A great triumph…" murmured Anora. Loghain sighed, knowing what would follow. Yes, tomorrow…another celebration, this one at the Cathedral. Another procession. Recognition before the Landsmeet. The Champion of Amaranthine. The Dragonslayer of Ferelden. The Hero of River Dane. And so forth, world without end.

_The past is always with us…_

Of course, Anora was going to use all this for her own purposes. Loghain could see the calculations ticking away behind the beautiful blue eyes.

She reached over to lay her hand gently on Alistair's forearm. Chantry Boy reddened and looked inexpressibly foolish. At least he valued Anora more than Cailan had. She said, "We have felt out some of the nobles, and there is considerable resistance to our plans for Denerim. People can be so hidebound."

"Yes," Maude agreed, repeating her previous observations to Loghain. "Keeping Gwaren seems appropriate, as it is your inheritance. Taking control of Denerim is logical, as its governance would be improved by removing a layer of complication. For the Crown to possess both, however, might seem overreaching to the banns."

Anora had a faraway look in her eye. Loghain tensed a little, knowing too well what it meant.

"Your analysis is as astute as ever, Maude. That is exactly how everyone seems to be viewing it. Alistair and I have been giving it a good deal of thought. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps keeping both Gwaren and Denerim as Crown fiefdoms is an abuse of royal power. We had to decide which was more important."

Loghain glanced at Maude, who was watching Anora like a cat at a mouse hole. A manipulator like Maude was not easy to manipulate. Anora gave them both a slight smile and said, "Denerim is essential to a strong monarchy. We have such plans to improve it. It will be a jewel among cities. I must show you my plans for a university, Maude—and a national library. We considered keeping only the city, and enlarging the Dragon's Peak bannorn into an arling, but we did not quite feel that Sighard was likely to give us his full support. So Denerim it is. We shall still face resistance, even though this was, after all, the teyrnir of Calenhad; but we feel that our plan for Gwaren will be proof of our good faith."

"And that is?" Loghain asked. Anora was clearly Up to Something.

His daughter eyed Maude with grave sympathy. "It is not easy to let go of a place that means so much to me. I could only bear it, if I knew it would be in good hands…in the hands of _family_…" She smiled at Alistair, resting her long-fingered hands on her swollen belly. "There is nothing so precious as family."

"Absolutely," Alistair agreed. "Absolutely nothing. So precious."

Loghain waited impassively. Maude was being remarkably inscrutable, waiting for Anora to disclose her scheme. Perhaps the explosion in Amaranthine had done her some good after all, for she was much more controlled now.

"Both of you," Anora said, "are Grey Wardens, sworn to defend this land against darkspawn and evil. As such, you cannot hold titles. It seems cruel, Maude, when after all you have done for this nation, you received no personal reward at all." She let the words drift away. Alistair looked very sad.

"So we thought of a way to recognize you both and honor your sacrifices, while not impinging on your current duties. Therefore," she said, taking a breath, "we shall propose that your firstborn child will be made heir to the Teyrnir of Gwaren. If the Maker does not bless you with offspring, the fiefdom will revert to the Crown at your deaths."

Loghain stared at his daughter. Alistair must have told her about the impossibility of two Grey Wardens conceiving… He glanced at Chantry Boy, who was still looking sad, until his mild hazel eyes were caught by Maude's unwavering stare, and then he blushed, and looked a little ashamed.

Loghain did not allow his impassive façade to crack, but he was almost shocked at the sweeping cynicism of Anora's ploy. The Landsmeet did not know that Maude was barren and that Loghain was now sterile. Maude would be too proud to tell anyone, and it was a Grey Warden secret, anyway. Those who knew Maude and felt obligated to her—or who loved her, like Fergus—would support this. All of Fergus' banns would support it. Delilah would support it too. Probably Bryland, who was related to them.

And Eamon Guerrin would not dare oppose it. Whatever his history with Loghain, he owed his life, his wife's life, his son's life, and his brother's life to Maude. It was she who had made the alliance that had saved Ferelden. Everyone who was anyone knew it, because Eamon had gone on about it at the last Landsmeet! How could he possibly oppose Maude's child being made heir to Gwaren without making himself appear the vilest of ingrates? And Teagan liked Maude, and would probably support her vocally. Yes, a majority would vote for it. Anora would have Denerim, and Gwaren too, in time. Nothing more likely, if by then she had produced another child, in addition to the kingdom's heir.

There was a long silence. Maude came forward, her eyes suspiciously damp. She kissed Anora on both cheeks, and smiled brilliantly.

"What a sound scheme!" she declared, her voice vibrant with conviction. "How clever you are! I think it's absolutely brilliant. Do let's have a drink to it!"

Loghain looked at her warily, out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

_Notes— Thank you, my reviewers: Josie Lange, Enaid Aderyn, mille libri, cloud1004, wisecracknmama, Gene Dark, Phygmalion, Shakespira, Zute, Kira Kyuuketsuki, Spoit0, Costin, Judy, Jyggilag, JackOfBladesX, hyperfuzzy, mutive, Fastforwarmotion, Juliafied, Iapetus, Tyanilth, Duel Soul, Lehni, Jenna53, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, icey cold, and Menamebephil. I'm glad you support my continuation of this adventure. _

_If you've been enjoying this story, I'd appreciate hearing from you. My reviewers have such interesting ideas!_

_Maude refers to her companions as warriors in her description of the fight in Howe's dungeons. I know that Zevran's designation is rogue, but that is all game mechanics. Such a distinction was certainly never made in our own Middle Ages, when any fighter would be described by the umbrella term "warrior." I don't believe Thedosians would use the term. What we call a rogue they would describe as a lighter-armed warrior who specializes in speed, accuracy and stealth. Maude certainly began as a "rogue," but became stronger throughtout her adventures, and now wears heavy armor._

_As to Maude's story of the Highever massacre-canon needed embroidery. Don't tell me that the ferocious Eleanor Cousland ever kissed anyone's foot. Howe says it in canon, but it's unbelievable. Bryce was already near death, and Rendon had no more leverage over her at all.  
_


	29. Children of Ferelden

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 29: Children of Ferelden**

**or, Dragon Age: The Next Generation**

Anora was very pleased to be given such explicit consent to her plans. Alistair looked relieved that Maude was not creating a scene. Why should the King and Queen not be pleased? It seemed that Loghain and Maude would quietly go along with Anora's plan for a royal takeover first of the Denerim arling, and then of the Gwaren teyrnir. The scheme would be disguised as giving a reward to Maude's firstborn child that Maude herself deserved but as a Grey Warden could not have: a child, needless to say, that Anora believed could never be born.

The assurance with which Anora expected them to fall in with the scheme rather took Loghain's breath away, but Maude was at her most charming, and now was changing the subject to something of endless interest to Anora and Alistair: their own child, due in less than three months. This was a child of vast importance: one who would secure the dynasty and be a bridge to Ferelden's past, present, and future.

"We have made our choices for the child's name!" Anora told them, almost giddy—for Anora. "For a boy, Cormac, and if a girl, Rhoswyn."

Loghain frowned. Anora had the right to name her children whatever she liked, but he had thought—he had hoped—that she would name her son Gareth, after her grandfather. He frowned more deeply, with the effort of saying nothing. Cormac was better than Duncan, at least.

"'Rhoswyn!'" Maude exclaimed. "What a lovely name. That's 'White Rose' in the old tongue, is it not? I thought so. "

Alistair beamed, even handsomer with the joy of it. "It's after Anora's favorite flower, and our good friend, Wynne, who made it all possible."

"And Cormac," Anora said a little hurriedly, "after the ancient hero who saved Ferelden from the invasion of the Wild Men of the South, led by Flemeth!"

Maude smiled. Loghain caught her eye. They both knew that the part about Flemeth was a myth, but why spoil Anora's pleasure?

"It's a very manly name," Maude agreed kindly. Loghain grunted. They could interpret the grunt as they liked.

"Teagan's going to be the godfather, if it's a boy," Alistair told them. "And if it's a girl—" he broke off, blushing.

Anora said, "We would like you, Maude, to be our daughter's godmother. It seems appropriate. The naming will be held at the Cathedral, and will be an important event."

Loghain forbore to sigh. Anora's tone capitalized the words. An Important Event. A Grand Affair. By Chantry decree, a child must have a sponsor of the same gender at its naming, even if it was an orphan with only a chantry sister or brother to hold it in front the holy fire. Indeed, it was a custom far older than the Chantry itself. No doubt Anora thought she was being generous to Maude. She was, so to speak, tossing the childless woman a bone. Loghain wondered idly why Maude did not slap Anora's face.

Maude seemed not at all vexed. Instead, she seemed quite delighted.

"I would be honored! Oh, I do hope it's a girl! I think you'd adore a girl, the both of you! Rhoswyn! Such a lovely name for a little princess. Of course, I'd be delighted to be godmother, and it _is_ appropriate, since aside from Alistair's half-sister, I'm his closest living relative!"

Anora nodded sagely. Loghain was brought up short, and then realized…that she really was.

"What?" Alistair asked, confused. "We're _related?_ Since when? Or really, since when are we related other than you being my stepmother-in-law?" He chuckled, shaking his head over it. _"Stepmother-in-law…"_

"Of course we're related. Everybody knows that," Maude said, staring at him. "It's something everybody knows. We're cousins. Why do suppose my father was considered for King?"

"We're cousins?" Alistair nearly shouted. "Why didn't you say so?

"Because I thought you knew!" Maude yelled back. "Everybody knows it!"

"I don't know it!" Alistair waved his arms. "How would I know that? How are we related?"

"Alistair…" murmured Anora, patting his shoulder to calm him.

"You really don't know?" Maude asked. She made a curious face. "Well, here goes: You've heard of King Darlan, haven't you—who was killed fighting the Orlesians? All right. He had two children. The son was Brandel, later King Brandel, called the Defeated. There was a daughter, Deirdre, and she married Aonghas Cousland. So her children—among them my grandfather- and Queen Moira were first cousins. So then my father and King Maric were second cousins. Thus you and I are third cousins, and I will be third cousin once removed to adorable Princess Rhoswyn!" She grinned charmingly, "…as well as her grandmother."

Alistair was still speechless, but the light had broken, and he was beginning to grin himself, very broadly. "We're cousins! That's…_terrific!_

"Yes, it is," she agreed cheerfully. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew. It's the sort of thing everybody knows. I knew it from the time I could talk. Yes, we're cousins. Fergus is your cousin, too, of course. You and I need to sit down with the family trees of Ferelden, and I'll show you how you're related to everybody. Yes, I will be little White Rose's godmother, grandmother, _and_ cousin."

He grinned at her. "Trust you to know what 'Rhoswyn' meant without having it explained to you!"

"I'm interested in names," Maude admitted. "It's about all that's left of Old Ferelden. Just like 'Cormac means 'Son of the Raven', and Anora means 'Honor,' and Loghain means 'Grey Stronghold,' and 'Alistair' means 'Defender of Men." Nice name for a king, that."

"And what does 'Maude' mean?" Alistair asked, grinning.

"Guess!"

"No, tell me! I hate guessing. And I'm King."

"Oh, very well, Your Majesty. By the way, _'Your Majesty'_ means 'horrible demanding despot."

"_Come_ on."

She smirked triumphantly. "'Maude' means—_of course_—'Mighty Battlemaiden!'"

"Does not."

"Does too."

"_Does not!"_

"_Does too!"_

"Alistair." Anora intervened gently, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. "It does."

"Oh."

Maude grinned at him. "My mother was _brilliant!_"

* * *

A few more civilities with the King and Queen, and they were on their way to bathe and change for dinner. Maude's face was a pleasant mask. Loghain would have thought her in quite a good mood, had he not known her well enough to know that she never looked like that when she was in a genuinely good mood. He glanced over at Alistair, who should know that as well, but Alistair and Anora were gazing into each other's eyes, holding hands. Loghain sneered briefly, and followed his young wife through the labyrinthine passages of the Palace.

"Maude…" he began.

"Not now," she murmured, smiling charmingly at everyone they passed. "Later."

She was walking very fast. Of course she was upset, however well she had dissembled in the presence of the King and Queen.

Anora had just revealed a scheme that was a secret gibe at them both. It was a clever scheme, and Loghain did not begrudge Anora Gwaren and Denerim, but he would prefer that she not make use in such a way of people who cared for her. Still, that was Anora. She really was a brilliant politician. He was more troubled that she had changed her mind about her child's name. Who was Cormac to them, that Anora would name a prince of Ferelden after him? "Son of the Raven?" That sounded suitable for a son of Morrigan, not Anora!

They reached the Compound and smelled the hot copper kettles that meant bath water.

"You go ahead," Maude said brightly. "There are things I must do." She sauntered away, and went into the Wardens' study, probably to have a look at the correspondence. Loghain hesitated; then shook his head. She would talk about it when she was ready. Cashel was waiting…

"Your bath, my lord."

He soaked in the tub, wishing Maude had come to help, but the quiet gave him a chance to think about the situation. It was far more complicated than it appeared on the surface, he thought, studying the soap bubbles on the surface of his bath. Everything was always more complicated than it appeared…

Maude was messing about in her old room now: he heard her slamming open her wardrobes and chests.

"Maude!" he called. "Are you going to wear your new gown tonight?"

"No!" she declared. "And don't go telling people I have a new gown. I want to save it for the first day of the Landsmeet!"

Loghain looked expressively at Cashel. The manservant assured him, straight-faced. "Not even torture could wring the news from me, my lord."

"A good thing for both of us. The brown, then, Cashel."

"Very well, my lord."

Shaved and clean and in fresh clothes, it was possible to believe the last month had never happened. Cashel took himself off, and Maude scrubbed herself with startling dispatch, and then threw on her old green gown.

Loghain was concerned at her preoccupied expression. Winding her hair up in a messy knot, she looked at him with a gravity unusual for her. "Now we need to talk." She approached him, and looked him in the eye. She had not looked at him like this since that fateful Landsmeet nearly a year ago: she was focused, fierce, and unfriendly.

"It comes to this: are you with me, or not?"

Yes, she was up to something. "I'm not sure I understand you."

"You will, very soon. I know that Anora is first with you, but is she so much the first that I count for nothing?"

This was bad. "Maude, obviously you're important to me. Anora is the Queen, and I am her faithful subject."

"Are you so much her faithful subject that you will let her have her way in _everything?_ Even in issues concerning our personal married life?"

"This is about her plan, isn't it?"

She glared at him. _"Obviously," _she snarled._ "_Anora has challenged me. She has thrown down the gauntlet, and she expected me to bow down and pretend to like it. Do you think I will allow her to taunt me in such a way? Do you think I will permit her to use me to trick Fergus?"

He could not pretend that it was not so. Anora did things like this when it suited her. She had used him, for that matter, and at the last Landsmeet had publicly thrown him aside when it seemed that he had no further value to her. A father could forgive a daughter anything, but whether he should forget it was certainly a reasonable question.

"Anora gets carried away by her vision sometimes," was all he could manage in his daughter's defense. "She is not deliberately insulting you. She is…"

"—_using_ the tools closest to hand, and is interested only in her own power and self-interest. I understand. _You_ will understand that I find it so profoundly offensive that I have to do something about it, if only for my own self-respect!"

"What _can_ you do?" he asked outright.

She smiled, sweet and terrible. "Plenty." She caught at his hand, and pulled him along with her. "Come with me," she murmured, and led the way into the study.

* * *

Anders and Morrigan were waiting, talking in low voices.

Loghain paused on the threshold, and then came into the room and shut the door behind him.

"Maude told us everything," Anders informed him, twinkling in amusement.

"Anders," Morrigan said impatiently, "Maude did not tell us _everything!_ However, I can surmise the rest."

"I," Maude said, eyes blazing with fierce resolve, "will move heaven and earth to bear a child, thus shattering Anora's infuriating plans like a frozen hurlock. Anders and Morrigan say there are things they can do to help. Are you in or out, Loghain?"

Anders choked on his laugh, and began coughing. Morrigan rolled her eyes and began thumping him on the back: a little harder than necessary.

"It was my understanding," Loghain pointed out, "that Grey Wardens were infertile: that it was difficult for a Grey Warden to sire a child, and impossible for two Grey Wardens to conceive a child together."

"See, that's the thing," Anders smirked. "'Infertile' is one of those wiggly words. 'Infertile,' means 'not really, really fertile,' which is something entirely different than 'sterile as an ox.'"

Loghain scowled, not pleased at being compared to an ox, even favorably.

"See…" Anders continued. "_'Infertile'_ means 'can get one up the spout with the right conditions and a bit of luck.' The King's '_infertile,'_ for that matter, but Wynne and I hashed that out months ago, and she put him on a potions regimen and the rest of it; and the Queen had a bun in the oven quick smart."

"It's not necessary," Loghain growled, "to speak of my daughter in that flippant way."

Morrigan's sensuous lips thinned. Maude stared at him with burning intensity.

"Sorry," apologized Anders, not sounding sorry at all. "I was just pointing out that whatever scheme the Queen's come up with, she's operating on faulty intelligence. There now, wasn't that nice and professional-sounding? She doesn't have all the facts. Too bad, that. Because the facts are Grey Warden secrets."

"And neither Alistair nor the Queen," Morrigan added coldly, "know anything about Avernus, other than his bare name. They know nothing of his advanced potion. Nor, if I have my way, shall they. The King has abjured the Grey Wardens, and has tattled our secrets in the Queen's ear as an offering to conjugal intimacy…"

"King Cailan did too," Maude muttered. "…what he knew of them. Alistair _told_ her, Loghain. He _told_ her! Alistair, however, was a very junior Warden, and a very incurious lad. It will serve him right if we don't tell _him_ everything. We can keep our mouths shut, proceed to conceive a baby, and when he looks surprised, we'll looked surprised, too: innocently surprised that he didn't know the difference between 'infertile' and 'sterile.'"

Loghain thought it over, a tug of war in his heart and head: forgotten hopes and wishes rising to the surface like bubbles.

"If we produce a child," he spoke frankly, "Anora will feel we've betrayed her."

"I don't doubt it, but she'd have a bloody fucking nerve to feel I owe her my _children!_ No sane monarch has that right. You know what I owe Anora? Absolutely _nothing._ She owes me her life and her throne. Alistair is clearly too besotted to remind her how close she came to being locked away for life or summarily executed. If she chooses to forget that, so much the worse for her. I _will_ have a child—as many children as I choose—and I don't care _that_—" she snapped her fingers "—for Anora's plans!"

This was Maude at her most dauntless and exciting, and Loghain felt his heart—and other parts—warm. Morrigan and Anders were there, so he controlled himself. It was for him to be the voice of reason and prudence, clearly.

"Maude, you shouldn't have a child simply to thwart Anora. That's not a good reason to bring a new life into the world—and especially into the maelstrom of Fereldan politics. This child would be a teyrn…or teyrna, almost from birth! Is that what you want for a child of yours?"

She blinked, her gaze incredulous. "Er…yes? I always expected any child of mine to be an arl or arlessa at the very least. Teyrn is fine. And I promise," she said solemnly, raising her right hand up to the Maker, "that if I bear a son, you may name him Gareth. This, I swear."

"I'm in." Loghain said instantly.

Anders began coughing again.

* * *

Once committed to any course of action, Loghain had always thrown himself into it without reserve. This time, it meant being examined—very thoroughly— by Anders.

"You're in pretty amazing shape, you know. No, really, Loghain—were you like this before you Joined, or did old Avernus' magic Joining Juice really do all Morrigan claims?"

"I felt instantly better and stronger after taking Avernus' potion," Loghain admitted. "Joint aches disappeared right away. I have more energy and stamina. Mind you, it tasted _really_ bad, but I'm convinced you mages do that deliberately anyway."

Anders chuckled, going through a chest full of vials, while Loghain slipped back into his clothes.

"Well," the young man smirked, "who'd believe that a potion was powerful unless it was impressively revolting? The good news is that I can see no reason why you shouldn't be able to make lots more little Loghains—however truly scary that thought. I have my own ideas about what the standard Joining does to men, but you're fine—absolutely fine. I think the issue is going to be with Maude, and not for the usual Grey Warden reasons."

After her examination, he called them together. Maude wanted Morrigan there, because "You never know. Morrigan might decide she wants a baby, and she should find out if it's possible."

Morrigan sneered from her chair by the window. "I take my contraceptive tea every morning to avoid just such a catastrophe."

"Yes—well—" Anders looked briefly unhappy, and then took a breath and told Maude his diagnosis.

"You want to know if it's possible. My best answer is—I'm not sure."

"_What?"_ Maude looked indignant.

Anders waved his hand for silence. "Hear me out. Your equipment is fine, but it's not working properly. I think the whole Joining issue affects women differently than it does men. The standard Joining, as far as I understand, really does, in a manner of speaking, burn up a man's seed. But I don't think that's what happening with women at all. They probably have centuries of research on this in Weisshaupt, but I can understand that we don't want to tip our hand to them." He turned to Maude. "You told me you last had your courses in Harvestmere when we were in Honnleath. Furthermore, they've been irregular ever since you became a Grey Warden. What changed in your life—other than the Joining itself—since then?"

Maude frowned, thinking. "Since I Joined the Grey Wardens? Hmmm…I guess I'd have to say that people have been trying to kill me all the time…"

Anders nodded, encouraging her to go on. "Y—e—s? And because they were trying to kill you, what were you doing?"

"Not letting them?"

"R—ight. How were you not letting them?"

Maude beamed. "Killing them instead!"

Loghain interrupted impatiently. "Yes, I'm familiar with young women in the army being in superb fighting condition. It often does keep them from having their courses, which in the army is plain good news. That it thus keeps them from becoming inconveniently pregnant would of course follow. In Maric's Shield—throughout the army in fact—the women also have access to contraceptive tea, and must take it if they wish promotion." He paused. "Are you saying that's the issue with Maude?" He would not be surprised. He had never met any woman in fighting trim to equal hers, and he had known dozens of brilliant women warriors.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Anders said, looking at a sulky Maude. "Yes, Maude, it means you have to cut back on all the violent exercise and killing your enemies and leaping over ogres in a single bound and riding horses at incredible speed. Not completely," he soothed her, seeing her wrath about to boil over. "Not completely, because that wouldn't be good for you either, but you've really got to get out of the armor and into a gown, get plenty to eat and lots of rest, and…well, soften up a bit."

Maude stared at him. "You're a horrible person, and I hate you."

"Do not be absurd, Maude," Morrigan scolded. "You said you wished to move heaven and earth to have a child. 'Tis quite unnecessary. Order some new gowns and try spending a few hours a day leading the life of a lady of leisure. I told Anders that I think it also an issue that you spent most of the Blight year without quite enough to eat—certainly not enough to eat for a new Grey Warden. Our meals were irregular during the last few months as well. One's body finds ways of defending itself when under stress. You must become accustomed to comfort. If you need a model, consider your appalling cousin Habren, who appears to do nothing at all but loll on cushions, eat sweetmeats, purchase things she does not need, and insult those she considers beneath her. In addition," she said, looking meaningfully at Anders, "there are some potions we can give you to help things along."

"I…don't know," Anders grimaced, "if I want to see what Maude would be like on those potions…"

"And," Morrigan continued, ignoring Anders' protest, "Loghain should take the usual fertility potions as well."

"But I don't see…"

"If Maude must take potions, then Loghain ought to as well," Morrigan repeated firmly.

Maude was very pleased at the idea. "That's very fair of you, Morrigan!"

Loghain shrugged, "I assume the potions will not cause me to be unable to perform my duties."

Morrigan smirked faintly. Anders rolled his eyes. "No. You'll be performing your duties just _fine_ on my potions."

* * *

Maude set about being "softer" with a vengeance, and that very evening. New gowns were ordered, and she ate an extra helping of pudding at dinner. Loghain could not say that she was looking"soft," but she certainly looked wonderful: the potion had given her a rosy glow. Her eyes were bright, her skin radiant. Not "soft," then, but ripe: luscious and desirable and ready for him.

Which was just as well, because _his_ potions were definitely having an effect. Grey Wardens were famous for stamina, and he suspected he would need it. He was ready for dinner to be over and to sweep delectable Maude off to their bedchamber.

"Arl Eamon will be back in Denerim tomorrow," Anora told Loghain, leaner closer to him over dessert. "He was in Redcliffe for a brief visit, but he and the Arlessa will probably arrive early in the morning. Bann Teagan will be with them. Do try to get on with them, Father. "

Loghain shrugged, utterly uninterested in the Guerrins at this or any other moment. "I don't see us _getting on_, but I promise not to draw my sword on Eamon unless he really deserves it."

"You're impossible!"

"He is," laughed Maude, overhearing them. She winked at Alistair and made him laugh as well.

In fact, Maude was perfectly charming to Their Majesties at dinner. Charming and respectful and somehow giving the impression that their wish was her command. Loghain was almost sorry to see Anora so taken in by it. On the other hand, seeing Chantry Boy led about by the nose was always deeply enjoyable.

When at last the Queen made her ponderous exist, escorted by her solicitous King. Maude leaned close to Loghain and whispered, "How would you like to tie me up?"

As it happened, very much indeed. They hurried back to their bedchamber to make it happen as quickly as possible.

The Grey Warden Prisoner was quite an exciting game. A prisoner could not be permitted clothes, and Maude, her hair hanging loose, was soon quite naked, over Loghain's knee, and at his mercy, such as it was.

"You've been a wicked girl," Loghain told her grimly. A series of sharp spanks on her firm and squirming bottom punctuated the litany of crime. "A rebel…" _Spank!_ "An outlaw…" _Spank!_ "A conspirator…" _Spank!_ "A thief…"_ Spank!_ "A spy for the Empress of Orlais…" A final, stinging _Spank!_ reddened the smooth white skin.

"I am not a spy!" Maude protested stoutly, her voice muffled by the bedclothes. "I'll never confess to that! Never!"

"I have ways of getting at the truth," Loghain said, his voice harsh with lust. He flipped her over onto her back and reached for a pair of long, silken belts retrieved from her wardrobe. Working quickly, Maude was bound firmly but carefully, wrist to ankle, her legs spread open, unable to resist, even had she wanted to. It was much easier, Loghain noted, to tie up a woman when she was being cooperative.

And then he was over her, skin against skin as his weight pressed down on her and his lips found hers.

"Confess…" he growled, nipping at her neck, her shoulders, the offered rose-tipped breasts.

"Never!" she cheerfully defied him. "My lips are sealed."

"We'll see about that." Deliberately, he moved his fingertips down, trailing them over her belly, then moving in circles just outside her moist and inviting folds. A quick finger inside her made her squeak and jump. "Your lips don't seemed very sealed to me."

"I shall bravely endure your base usage," she declared, her breath quickening, "...if you could move your hand a little to the right…"

He pinched the little pink bundle of nerves sharply, and she moaned. "And I'd like to endure it right about _now,_ Loghain!"

He entered her slowly, savoring every inch. Her body adjusted to the invasion, stretching around him as she cooed with relief. A moment of stillness, of pure sensation, and then he began to move, filling her repeatedly, relentlessly, with her urgent consent.

"Confess," he grunted, slamming into her.

"Well," she panted, "I stole your Regent's crown from your seneschal at the Gnawed Noble! How's that?"

He growled at her, putting his back into it, "I know you did! What did you do with it?"

"Sold it!" she gasped back. "I got twenty sovereigns from a dwarven trader! Oh, Loghain, faster, please!"

"You don't deserve it," he snarled, thrusting into her with long, sensual strokes. "You've been a very bad girl! Confess!"

"Er…I know! I smuggled lyrium from Orzammar to the Circle!"

"Maker's Breath, Maude!" Loghain shouted, pounding away. "Are you out of your mind? The Chantry will do you for heresy for that!"

"Then they shouldn't get the Templars addicted!" she wailed ecstatically. "And most of what I did in Denerim, by the way, I did solely to get your attention!"

"Well, you've got it now," he got it now, pleasure quickening his hips. He leaned on one hand, the other reaching down, touching and teasing; keeping up his relentless pace until she cried his name; trembling as his release seeped out of her.

A long, gasping pause followed as the room became a normal bedchamber, and the moaning young woman underneath him became his wife.

"Hurts," she whimpered.

Instantly, he set about untying her, rubbing her wrists soothingly. She turned onto her side and he spooned up behind her, holding her gently.

"That was fun," she murmured, "That was really fun. I've done lots of other bad things I should tell you about."

"Later," he sighed, deep relief making his limbs blissfully heavy. He blew out the candle, and snuggled down closer against her back. "And sometime I'll have to get you to tell me all the Grey Warden secrets."

"Nuh-_uh,_" she disagreed sleepily. "I'm going to make _you_ tell the Grey Warden secrets. How I shall make you suffer…"

"Sounds good…"

"Loghain?"

"What now?"

"I think some of those potions Anders and Morrigan gave us must be aphrodisiacs."

"Probably."

"Neat…"

* * *

They lingered long in bed the following morning. Loghain performed his duty with a will, and then they lazed, considering what to do after breakfast. "We have heaps of letters," Maude told him, arms under her head lifting her breasts saucily. "Most of them are probably rubbish, but I suppose I should make a start."

"Go to it, Senior Warden."

She rolled over, deliberately misunderstanding him. "As you wish, Commander." He was almost prepared for the pounce.

A little later, they walked into breakfast together, interrupting Oghren in midst of a filthy story.

"—and she started crying, pointing at him. 'We've been married only one night,' she sobbed, 'and it's almost used up already!'"

Sigrun gave him the required laughs. Maude managed a friendly greeting before throwing herself into her food.

"Mushrooms!" she exclaimed, heaping them onto her plate. "This is heavenly!"

Their breakfast over, Oghren and Sigrun went their way, and not long after, Morrigan and Anders sauntered in, voices raised in intellectual debate.

"There you are!" cried Morrigan. "We wanted to know how you are faring on the potions."

Loghain snorted. Maude smirked at him, and said, "Wonderfully well! I feel glorious. Don't you feel glorious, Loghain?"

"All except the part about Eamon Guerrin arriving today," he grunted.

"There is that," Maude agreed. "I'm sure the King and Queen will have quite the conversation with him. I'd love to be a fly on _that_ wall!"

Loghain nodded, a bit despondently. He really would like to know how Anora was going to present her plan to Eamon…what she would offer him to support her grabbing at Denerim… a fly on the wall sounded like a fine idea…

Slowly his gaze shifted to Anders. The mage looked back, blinked, and asked, _"What?"_

Loghain began to smile. Really smile. Understandably, Anders was somewhat nervous at this. Maude looked at them and suddenly had the same thought.

"Nobody knows that Anders is Ser-Pounce-a-Lot!"

"Nobody that we're sending him to spy on," Loghain agreed equably.

Anders was horrified. "Now just a minute…"

Morrigan was completely unsympathetic. "I would it do it myself, did not the _King_—" she said the word with utter scorn "—know me to be a shapeshifter, and did he not know all the forms I have mastered. Why else learn such an art, if not to take advantage of credulous fools?"

"That's what I say!" seconded Maude. "Credulous fools ought to be taken advantage of at every opportunity! It's good for them! Quick, Anders, have a nice breakfast, and then slip through to the Palace and find out what Eamon and Their Majesties have to say to each other. It'll be fun!"

Not too much later, a small ginger cat slinked away, guarded by Ranger, who was instructed to watch Pounce at a distance and make sure nothing ate him. Topaz stayed at the Compound, lazing about and scrounging a second breakfast. Loghain eyed her in concern, hoping she would not get fat on all this rich Palace food.

Morrigan was complacently enjoying her own breakfast. "Such a pity His Majesty knows my forms. I must study anew perhaps, but I shudder at the idea of being a domestic creature. Of course, there are always rats…" She narrowed her eyes at Maude's innocent expression. "You should be taking you potions with food. Have you had them? No? Take them at once!"

"Yes, you Maginess," Maude laughed. "I'll go get them."

Morrigan watched them drink them down, much amused. "You know, Maude, such potions have been known to lead to multiple births…." She rose and departed, hips swaying.

"That's amazing," Maude remarked. "You wouldn't think that somebody could gloat just by walking and moving their hips, but Morrigan's hips just gloated at me!"

Loghain suppressed a groan, still appalled at the idea of more than one child at a time. _That would just about finish me off._ "Come on. Paperwork awaits us."

She followed him into the study quite agreeably, and they sat down in front of a heaping pile of parchment, and began sorting through it. There were a lot of bills from their workmen. There were pleading letters from people wanting the Grey Wardens to find their cats, so to speak.

There was a very polite letter from the Grey Warden post at Tantervale in the Free Marches, concerned about the rumors of "talking darkspawn." Loghain set that aside, planning to give them a serious answer. He dug back into the pile.

"Here's one," he said after a little while, "from a young admirer," he displayed the childish writing—"wanting to know how to become a Grey Warden and offering his services."

Maude snatched it up and looked at it. "Poor little innocent! I'll answer this one, Loghain—very nicely. I won't say, 'be in the wrong place at the wrong time,' or, 'be condemned for a capital crime.' He's only nine…what a sweet boy... would you rather have a boy or a girl, Loghain?"

He should have known she would have that on her mind.

"From what Anders indicated, we'll be lucky to have either. I suppose it would be interesting to have a son, since I've already had the experience of raising a daughter."

"That's what I thought you'd say. I really don't care. I'm still a little worried about Morrigan's threat that the potions they've given us raise my chances of having twins. I hope _that_ doesn't happen."

Loghain understood what she meant. Twins were traditionally held to be unlucky, mostly because they were often born earlier and one or more were more likely to die. Also, the birthing was far more complicated, and therefore more dangerous. In addition…

"I hope it doesn't either," he agreed. "Running after one toddler is likely to be taxing enough at my age."

"Really, Loghain!" Maude shook her head at him. "You'd think you'd never heard of nursemaids!" Suddenly distracted, she reached for a letter bearing the seal of Highever.

"From Fergus!" she declared, happy and excited. She broke the seal deftly and scanned it. Loghain was astonished at how her expression altered so very, very fast.

"What's wrong?"

"…er…nothing…" she blew out a breath, read on, and then shouted, "_Maker's fucking breath!"_

"Maude, _must _you use that word _all_ the time?"

She waved the letter in his face, looking absolutely thunderstruck.

"Fergus is _married!" _she shrieked.

"Really?" He frowned, trying to take the letter she was waving, but she snatched it back, and read it herself.

"He's married, and they're expecting already! Or maybe they were expecting and then got married. He's not very clear about that bit. They're very, very happy… Anyway, he didn't want to wait to come to Denerim for the Landsmeet for a posh wedding here. They just went to the Chantry in Highever, and the Revered Mother did it for them… barrels of ale in the Market for the people. Yes, Fergus, I'm sure that _was_ popular…"

She glanced up at him, head lowered, looking at him under her brows. "And you will not _believe_ the name of the bride!"

Something in her expression gave him pause. Maude was quite obviously not particularly pleased about Fergus' choice of wife…

_Could it be possible…?_

She grimaced. "You guessed it, Loghain. You are the clever lad. Fergus has once again followed his heart— through whatever thorny country it takes him. A bride with a thumping great dowry to rebuild Highever would have been actually practical, but Fergus is an incurable romantic. And he never again has to fear for his wife not being able to defend herself or her children. I can see that would be quite an attraction."

He waited for her to say the name and make it real. She granted him a grim, lop-side smile.

"Yes, Teyrna Cauthrien has been his strong right hand as he puts Highever in order. She doesn't know much about domestic management or playing the grand chatelaine, but by the Maker, she knows how to whip new guard recruits into shape!"

Loghain sat staring at her. After a moment, he said, "Cauthrien…is Teyrna of Highever. I can see you are not very happy at the news."

"Cauthrien and I have a checkered past, and she, being an honest woman, told Fergus as much," she admitted. "However, I don't want you telling anyone I'm not happy about this. Fergus will need support. A lot of noblewomen and their ambitious mothers are going to be enraged by this bit of news. Really enraged, like _hiring Crows_ enraged. A mere knight—a lowborn knight at that—to snatch the most eligible man in Ferelden? They're going to be as horrible as they dare to Cauthrien, too." Maude made an almost comically despondent face. "I'm going to have to back her up. I'm going to have to stand by her side and act _thrilled."_

Loghain carefully did not smile. "You're not going to seek revenge on her for 'slugging' you at Fort Drakon?"

"Can't," she scowled. "She's preggers. I'll have a private talk with her about not calling people 'churls' and about what I'll do to her if she makes Fergus unhappy, but other than that, I'll have to give her a pass. Highever needs an heir. I hope _she_ has twins!" she added, viciously.

* * *

Anders made his report just after lunch. They retired to Loghain and Maude's room to hear it in private. Morrigan shouldered her way in and took the most comfortable chair. They waited for Anders to pull himself together and start talking. At last he did, but it began differently than they expected.

"Arl Eamon," he shuddered, "likes cats. A lot."

"Oh, poor Anders!" Maude sympathized. "Did the nasty Arl _pet_ you?"

Loghain felt his face tense in a rictus of disgust. Spying was _such_ a dirty business.

Anders declared, "I am scarred for life. You both will owe me until the day I die."

"Of course we shall," Maude soothed him. "Absolutely true. So good and clever of you to do it. I'm sure you have totally amazing things to tell us."

"As it happens," Anders said, lifting his chin proudly, "I do."

He perched himself on the deep window sill and folded his arms.

"Their Majesties were very happy to see the Arl and he was very polite too, offering Her Majesty congratulations on how well her condition was progressing. And it _is_ going very well, so magic once again trumps mere pious prayer. They chatted about the people coming to town, and they talked about you and how popular you were at the moment. They must have talked to the Arl about their ideas for Denerim already, because he seemed to know all about them, and didn't care much for them. He wanted his brother to be appointed Arl of Denerim. That's when the Queen dangled a bigger fish in front of him."

Anders had their complete and utter attention.

"The King and Queen swore him to secrecy, and then told him about the plan for Gwaren. They told him that they would present the offer, but that it would never happen, because you, Maude, were barren. Furthermore, they said it would be moot in a few years, because Grey Wardens don't live long. They think that Loghain will be dead in five years or less, because of his age at Joining. They think Maude is too reckless to live long anyway. So their "reward" to the Grey Wardens is moot, and the big question is who will really get Gwaren after you're gone. The Queen suggested that Bann Teagan be made the Teyrn-Protector of Gwaren until the agreement runs out. Eamon was not to tell Teagan any of this. Teagan would believe his job would be to hold and manage the teyrnir until your child is old enough to hold it himself or herself. However, once you're out of the way, or admit that there will never be a child, Teagan would be prepared to take the teyrnir."

"Lucky Teagan!" Loghain sneered.

"Well," Anders laughed, "Not so lucky, really. I stayed after the Arl was gone, and curled up under the Queen's chair. The deal with Eamon is a fake, too. Anora doesn't think Eamon will live more than a few more years. She heard something from a Healer who's treated him. He's never bounced back well from the time he was poisoned…"

Loghain sighed gustily. What a fiasco. He should just have had the mage kill him outright. Life would be simpler.

"…anyway," Anders said, "they really do want to make Teagan Teyrn-Protector of Gwaren, but that's so he'll take care of the place until they have a child who can inherit it. Right now, the Queen feels the main thing is to get Denerim solidly within their grasp. Then they'd move on to Gwaren. The King said he hoped they would have more children, but if they didn't, letting Teagan have the teyrnir wouldn't be so bad. The Queen doesn't agree at all. She thinks Redcliffe is quite enough for him, and he'll have it sooner rather than later. There's talk that the Arlessa is pregnant, but they haven't made it official. The Queen doesn't believe it."

"In short," Loghain said, the words sour in his mouth, "Anora is attempting not only to use us to trick the Landsmeet, she is attempting to trick the Chancellor as well, by offering him something she has no intention of giving away."

Maude considered it all. "I don't have a problem with Teagan managing the place, but I don't think he should be called Teyrn-Protector. I think Lord-Protector is more appropriate. That way it doesn't sound like a demotion when he becomes Arl of Redcliffe, which he almost certainly will be."

"Teagan might not do badly," Loghain said grudgingly, knowing that he himself could not possibly manage both Gwaren and the Wardens. "Anora is playing a deep game—a dangerous game. It's just as well that we'll put a stop to it sooner rather than later."

* * *

Two days later, the Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever arrived, along with their retinue. A message arrived at the compound, apprising Loghain and Maude of the arrival, and inviting them to dinner at Highever House. Loghain suspected he was as nervous as Maude about this evening.

Fergus met them as they came in the door, giving Maude the fiercest hug he could, in deference to her elegant gown. Loghain had never seen the young man looking so happy. Cauthrien hung back a little, proud and impassive, but with the least hint of pleading in her eyes.

What struck him from the first was that Cauthrien looked quite wonderful in blue and white. Highever colors became her.

He gave her the slightest nod, and a hint of a smile. If this was the future she wanted for herself, she should have it. Fergus would have a loyal wife and Highever a fair and hard-working teyrna, and if that was a finger in the eye to the useless, twittering noblewomen of Ferelden, then Loghain was all for it.

The teyrn held his sister at arm's length, looking her over, grinning.

"Little sister! You look beautiful! After all the wild rumors out of Amaranthine, I thought you must be a complete wreck."

"I'm quite sure the rumors fall short of the ghastly reality," Maude said promptly. "And I am a complete wreck, but a _resurrected_ wreck."

He laughed and put his arm around her, offering his hand to Loghain.

"Come," he said, "and meet my Teyrna."

"My lady," Loghain said, gravely and sincerely. "I hope you will be very happy."

"Especially since you've made awful old Fergus so happy. His letter was absolutely gushing!" Maude said cheerfully. "I hear there is a young Cousland on the way? Do tell me all!"

"This way."

Her smile uncertain, Cauthrien led them into the firelit parlor of Highever House. Loghain wondered how she was enjoying the transition from hardbitten veteran to great lady. She certainly _looked_ like she was moving into her new role, but her gestures were still strong and direct; her speech plain and unequivocal. She was something of a soldier in a fine gown, but Loghain certainly preferred that to the useless parasites who had spent the Blight cowering under their beds or in Denerim or in the Free Marches "for their health."

Fergus was smiling at Cauthrien, squeezing her hand. Cauthrien smiled back, her face smoothing into…happiness. Yes, she looked happy. She smiled back at her husband, and said. "The child is due in Harvestmere." She laughed self-consciously. "I suppose that's appropriate."

Fergus laughed too. "Highever will never have had such a Satinalia to celebrate before! You'll be the child's godmother is it's a girl, won't you, Maude? And you, Loghain? If it's a boy? That's what Cauthrien and I would wish, more than anything."

"Fergus," Maude said carefully, "You do us great honor, but I must point out that it might be the prudent, politic move to ask the King and Queen? They would not refuse you, and it would give them a personal interest in the Highever heir."

Cauthrien frowned, thinking, but shook her head. Fergus was already waving Maude's admonition away.

"No. It's you two we want. I know what you're saying about the King and Queen. Maybe some day, if we're lucky enough to have more children. This one, we want _you_ for. I want you for the girl and Cauthrien wants Loghain for the boy. You're concerned about having godparents who can look after the child and give him a bit of extra protection, but I'd like to point out that Rendon Howe was _my_ godfather, and it didn't do me a bit of good. And Oren—" He paused, glancing guiltily at Loghain.

"Yes," Loghain said quietly. "I remember that Maric was your little boy's godfather. I'd like to point out that I'm sure he did not intend to die and leave the land—or its children- without a protector, but these things do happen. None of us can claim to be immortal. I would honored to stand for your son, if that is what you wish," he finished, looking at Cauthrien.

"It is. It _is," _she said earnestly.

"Oh!" cried Maude. "I almost forgot! I have presents for the bride and groom!" She drew out a silken bundle. "Something for Fergus and something for Cauthrien. I must confess that neither of these things cost me a penny, but they're rightfully yours, all the same."

Maude loved giving presents, Loghain knew. She watched her brother and sister-in-law unwrap the gifts, beaming delightedly at their expressions.

"I found those cups at horrible Bann Esmerelle's place in the city of Amaranthine. Rendon Howe must have given her his Highever loot. I found some of my books there, too. Anyway, I thought you'd like the cups, and that necklace was Mother's, so I wanted the Teyrna of Highever to have it. I burgled Esmerelle's room when she was staying at Vigil's Keep. She shouldn't have made a point of taunting me by wearing it!"

Fergus called to a servant. "Put these cups on the table. I want to drink from them tonight!"

Cauthrien was staring bemusedly at the huge pearl and ruby pendant. "It's…amazing…" She turned it over and saw the Highever symbol and Eleanor Cousland's initials. "Yes, I see. Thank you for this. I shall be proud to wear it."

"Put it on now!" Fergus blurted out eagerly. "I want to see it around your neck. Go on, Cauthrien! It looks gorgeous on you!"

It did look very well. Cauthrien was tall and imposing enough to carry off such a massive piece of jewelry. She fingered the big teardrop pearl in disbelief, and a more natural smile found its way on her lips. Loghain hoped she would wear it every day of the Landsmeet. She could use it as an auxiliary weapon to knock down silly women who annoyed her.

They went into dinner a little later and talked long about the state of affairs in Highever and in Amaranthine. Fergus had been too engrossed in his own teyrnir to know much of what was going on. Maude gave him an abridged version, and assured him the worst was over.

"I hope that's true," the young man said seriously. "Highever's had about all it can take in this age, I think. The town was badly damaged during the riots and by the outright thievery of Howe's men. The alienage is almost deserted. The castle…well…it's clear Howe never expected to have to live there, or he wouldn't have done what he did. By the time we got there, his men had run off, and we found an empty ruin. The bodies had long since been burned together, and there was no way we were ever going to be able to retrieve the family's remains. I put up a memorial to them in Highever Chantry, but there's no urn. Sorry, pup."

Maude looked away. "It's hardly your fault. I had hoped…this sounds foolish, but I'd hoped that there might still be prisoners in the dungeons. I even checked Vigil's Keep, but there were no Highever people there."

Fergus looked at her in compassion. "It would have been madness to keep anyone alive. The whole point of that attack was to try to keep Howe's name out of it, and any surviving prisoner would have started rumors. They're gone, pup, and it's for us to start over." He lifted his cup, "Here's to the ones who have gone before."

They joined the toast and drank in silence. The preceding conversation had made Loghain more than a little uncomfortable, remembering how easily he has written off the Couslands once Howe had massacred them. He had felt he was being pragmatic at the time, and that was certainly true. Heartlessly pragmatic. He should never have let Howe have a free hand. Despite the chaos he feared if both Highever and Amaranthine were without lords, he should have taken steps against Howe immediately. It had been the worst mistake of all. Cauthrien was not looking at him, and it was possible she felt the same.

Rain was starting outside: a mild spring rain. Out in the countryside, the farmers would be pleased. People were anxiously watching the burnt-off fields to see if they had been cured of the Blight. Loghain pictured a fine green mist forming over the Ferelden earth; pictured it and prayed for it. The rain pattered musically against the windows, and a fresh breeze stirred the hangings.

"Speaking of starting over, Fergus," Maude said conversationally, "I don't know if you've heard about all Their Majesties' plans, especially for Denerim."

Fergus paused over his wine, and then glanced at the servants. "You're dismissed," he said quietly. "I'll call when I want you. Go down to the kitchens."

They were well-trained, and so hardly looked at each other as they left. Loghain was sure they'd have plenty to say once they were down in the servants' hall.

"Yes," Fergus said gravely. "We know about the King and Queen having their sights on Denerim. I'm sure the Queen's plans are splendid, but they're simply not going to happen. I'm not speaking against your daughter, Loghain, but for the Crown to possess bother Gwaren and Denerim as fiefdoms would give the Crown far too much power. All the personal vassals they'd gain in the Landsmeet would permit them nearly the kind of unlimited power that we see in Orlais. Remember, the Orlesians used to have a kind of Landsmeet themselves—"

"_Les États-Généraux," _murmured Maude.

"Right. That thing they call it, but it hasn't met in ages. The Empress simply has too much power, and her nobles aren't much more than upper servants now. We don't want that sort of thing in Ferelden, and giving the Crown a teyrnir and an arling is a big step in that direction."

"I agree," Loghain said immediately, "and I told Anora that I saw no way that the Landsmeet would ever agree to it. She still has her heart set on one of them, and I'm not sure I think it's a bad idea for the Crown to rule Denerim. It would be more efficient, certainly, and she can effect her plans to improve the city without an Arl of Denerim in her way. I think you can make the argument that the Crown is too _weak_ at the moment. And Anora has had second thoughts about Gwaren."

He blew out a breath, while Fergus and Cauthrien exchanged interested looks. Indeed, Cauthrien looked at Loghain in concern. Loghain glanced over at Maude, and lifted his brows. Perhaps it was best if Fergus heard this part of the story from his sister. She knew him better than Loghain, and knew what she could tell him and what she could not.

"The Queen felt she could only let Gwaren go to family," Maude said demurely. "It troubled her that Loghain and I have saved Ferelden and received no proper reward—nor can we, being Grey Wardens. So…" she paused, building the suspense, and giving Fergus a wry smile. "So she wishes to propose at the Landsmeet that Gwaren be the fiefdom of our 'firstborn child.'"

Cauthrien actually sat up and looked hopeful. Fergus grinned. "Your child and Loghain's? That would make sense. Good sense. It's a decent solution. I think quite a few of the banns would go for it. No one expected to be given Gwaren anyway. More people had their eye on Denerim. Let's see…" He threw back his head, mentally counting votes. "Bryland and his people, my people, probably Wulffe's…What about Delilah Howe? I can't see her daring to go against us."

"I don't think she would. However, there is a complication you should know about. I support it, and you should too, in exchange for Amaranthine's votes on the Gwaren issue…"

She told him about the end of Esmerelle, and Nathaniel's provisional appointment. Fergus was irritated at the idea of Bann Nathaniel Howe, but not so irritated that he did not want his sister's child to inherit a teyrnir.

"The Howes were cooperative in every way during our adventures in Amaranthine. Bann Esmerelle was the troublemaker, but she is gone," Loghain pointed out.

"I think Nathaniel will be quite a good bann," Maude told Fergus. "He fought bravely, and put his people first, even when he didn't know they _were_ his people. We can also put pressure on them to support you…and your marriage." Maude looked meaningly at her brother and his wife.

Fergus scowled, but knew she was right. His marriage to Cauthrien would have to be recognized by the Landsmeet for their children to inherit. He did not expect a great deal of trouble, but he knew there would be _some._

"However," Maude said, looking at the ceiling, "it's very important to me that this agreement about my child be made as favorably as possible, and Loghain and I can't be seen to be pushing hard for it. It wouldn't look very nice, and it might raise some hackles. I really need you to do the heavy lifting here, Fergus."

"Of course I will—"

"And I need you to go over the terms very carefully before it's put to a vote. For example, the Queen spoke of our 'firstborn.' Does that mean that if our first child were to be stillborn or to die, that our oldest _surviving_ child would not be covered by the agreement?"

Fergus sat back and gave her a hard look. "You think this offer is not being made in good faith."

Loghain took a breath, but forbore to speak. Sometimes Fergus' candid, open-hearted manner caused him to forget that Fergus, too, had been raised by Bryce and Eleanor Cousland.

Maude cocked her head. They could not tell Fergus and Cauthrien Grey Warden secrets, but they could dance about the subject.

Maude said, "There are all sorts of ways this 'reward' could be made onerous or ultimately elusive. The Queen, for example, said that if Loghain and I had no children, the teyrnir would pass to the Crown at our deaths. Obviously, for us to have no children would be very convenient. If the agreement is only for a 'firstborn,' as I mentioned, it is possible that a younger, surviving child would be eliminated from the succession. Or the title of the one managing the teyrnir might be one that leads one to believe that the intention is to give him the lands instead of the child. Or there might be a provision to remove the child from our care and place him with a guardian appointed by the Crown. There might be a provision to give him the title only pending a period of probation, which could be revoked at the Crown's pleasure. There could be a provision to give the teyrnir's revenues to the Crown until the child is confirmed in the title. I really want an agreement that will protect this child's interests and our interests as his or her parents. I don't want the Crown being given any room to maneuver. I want the child to have the title from birth, and if something were to happen to the child, I would want the title to pass to the next sibling without question. We really need this, Fergus."

Cauthrien put in, "Is there some reason for the Queen to think you will not have children?" Trust Cauthrien to cut to the heart of the matter.

Loghain said, "The Queen hears many rumors. Not all of them are true. And you did not hear me say that."

Fergus narrowed his eyes. Maude explained, her face mischievous.

"The Queen may think I am barren, for some reason or other. It is important that you behave as if you know nothing of such a rumor. If confronted with it, laugh it off as too ridiculous to believe—but not because _I've_ said it was untrue. It will be for the best, in the end."

Cauthrien groaned. "I _hate_ politics!"

Maude laughed. "Well, you're a Cousland-by-marriage, so you'll find yourself living and breathing politics. You're in it now, and no mistake!"

* * *

The Landsmeet would begin in two days. Nobles, their families, and their hangers-on were flooding into Denerim. With them was the usual crowd of itinerant traders, thieves, harlots, and swords-for-hire.

Loghain was glad to escape into Grey Warden correspondence and plans for Soldier's Peak, letting Maude do the swanning about and politicking in and out of the noble townhouses of Denerim. She and Ranger were gone most of a day to Highever House, closeted with her brother, Leonas Bryland, Alfstanna Haldane, and a surprisingly large set of her former supporters from the Landsmeet. Nobles for whom she had performed notable services, like Bann Sighard's son Oswyn, were coming out the woodwork for her. Teagan Guerrin visited Highever House and voiced his support, but Loghain was unsurprised, knowing that Teagan had always liked Maude. Loghain had expected serious resistance to the idea of their child inheriting Gwaren, but Maude had more friends than he had realized. When the Amaranthine contingent arrived, she should have plenty of votes to achieve her goal.

"Actually, my darling, it's not so much that they _want_ to give Gwaren to our theoretical child, as that they _don't_ want any of their peers to get it instead," she told him, arriving warm and glowing, her scent as heady as ripe peaches. He was glad to see her, having struggled with a growing and distracting tension across his groin for most of the afternoon. It was very convenient for their bed to be only a few steps away from the study. He swept her away, locked the door, and set about unlacing her from her formidably complicated confection of dark yellow silk and brown velvet. If there was never an heir to Gwaren, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Josie, Lange, Zute, Guile, Gene Dark, Shakespira, Phygmalion, Sarah1281, Rosabell, Enaid Aderyn, Judy, mille libri, cloud1004, Costin, Fastforwarmotion, RakeeshJ4, Juliafied, Eva Galana, guantanamobayxx, Kira Kyuu, Duel Soul, icey cold, delilahmedea, tree1138, JackOfBladesX, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, irishman91, mutive, Eliar, Lehni, Jenna53, Tyanilth, Jyggilag, Tall Tales-Feline Jaye, Merithea._

_Juliafied, Judy, and Eliar did not use the messaging system, so I was not able to give them individual replies, however, they should know that I appreciate their reviews all the same!_

_I fudged the meaning of 'Loghain,' since it is not a real name. The rest of the meanings are accurate.  
_

_Next chapter: The Landsmeet, and what came of it._


	30. The King's Speech

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 30: ****The King's Speech**

The Landsmeet opened on a clear spring day: the sort of day that should grace the beginning of the Landsmeet, but rarely did. Normally, there was a late frost, or a heavy rain, and everyone arrived either frozen or drenched, and stinking of wet wool like a flock of very important sheep.

Today, though— today was perfect. Loghain watched Maude array herself in her splendid black armor, as carefully as ever she arrayed herself for battle. This would be a battle, of course: a battle of words and manipulation; of promises and shameless lies and horse-trading, but still a battle.

"Not your new gown?" he asked.

"No. You're in armor…I'm in armor. I want to appear before them as a Warden, not a nubile young woman. No need to give the Crown second thoughts even before they've committed themselves. Help me with this pauldron, won't you?"

There was always a huge crowd at the first day of the Landsmeet. The law said that only voting members and people whose petitions were being heard were supposed to gather in the Chamber, but no one paid the least attention to that. The voting members always brought their families. They brought their closest friends and advisors. Distinguished foreign guests sometimes attended, and Maric had used that custom to support his decree that the Grey Wardens were welcome.

It was beyond ironic that Loghain was attending the Landsmeet as, in effect, the representative of a foreign order of warriors, but it got him into the Landsmeet, and any Grey Warden who wished to attend as well. Besides, who was going to keep the Queen's father out? Or the sister of the Teyrn of Highever, for that matter?

The Wardens could enter through a passageway connected to the passage. Another passage at the top of the room connected with the Royal Apartments. Maude held Loghain back, peering around the corner, watching the Landsmeet Chamber fill.

"We want to make a proper entrance!" she murmured, eyes very bright.

All the Wardens were attending. Morrigan had sneered about the boredom of it, but she was here all the same, gorgeous in half-a-hundredweight of jewels and the dark blue gown given to her by the guildsmen of Amaranthine. As usual, she was attracting a great deal of notice. Anders smiled at the young ladies, and quite a bit at the ladies of a certain age. Morrigan seemed oblivious to his flirtations today. Her mind was evidently on more important things.

Keenan was here, looking about in a pleasant, interested way, and his wife was with him, dressed in her best, obviously impressed with her surroundings and even more impressed with herself for being here. Loghain grimaced.

Sigrun and Oghren had come, purely out of curiosity, and had found the benches at the back corner, where they could watch the proceedings in what comfort the place allowed.

Delilah Howe entered, accompanied by her brother. She was dressed richly but quietly, and appeared calm and prepared for the whispers and criticism. The criticism was tempered by considerable interest in Nathaniel Howe, who was being formally proposed for the bannorn of Amaranthine City, and thus had risen from being the landless son of a traitor to an eligible young nobleman. The women were eyeing him speculatively, as if judging a goose for Firstday dinner. He was grim and unsmiling, and had never looked more like his father.

Fergus arrived, Cauthrien on his arm, and the storm of gossip rose anew. There were some very hard looks cast at Highever, mostly from angry women and disappointed fathers. Cauthrien was very handsome in her finery, and utterly unshaken by the Landsmeet's jealousy and disapproval. As a soldier, she had faced worse than sneers and malicious whispers. Fergus nodded about him, cheerful and undaunted.

Satisfied that this was the proper moment, Maude whispered, "Now! Now's our time!"

Thus, Loghain marched in with Maude, a mabari on either side, seemingly indifferent to the swell of gossip that rose at their appearance. It was a complex mixture: growls and residual hard feelings from the civil war; praise for him for saving the country; rumors of the events at Amaranthine; admiration for the way Maude looked in her elaborate Archdemon armor; pretense of the like about him; talk about the plans for Gwaren; speculation that Maude was pregnant.

The trumpets blared, and out of the rear hall emerged the King and Queen. Loghain sighed to himself. Anora must have been watching and listening for the proper moment, too. It was part of the puppet show of monarchy.

Ferelden's monarchs were wearing the glittering crowns gifted to them by the dwarves of Orzammar. They were just this side of gaudy…no they were totally gaudy, but really very splendid. Alistair was in his golden armor, and Anora in a new golden dress, something like her wedding gown, but cut to display her gravid state to best and most visible advantage.

"They certainly look just as they should," Maude whispered, delighted, bowing along with everyone else. The monarchs took their thrones, and the seneschal bawled out:

"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen! On this first day of Eluviesta, the thirty-second year of the Dragon Age, the thee hundred and ninetieth from the founding of the kingdom, by command of Their Majesties, King Alistair and Queen Anora, I declare this Landsmeet in session!"

It was ancient custom to use the old Tevinter calendar names: to call Cloudreach by its more imposing name of Eluviesta. Fereldans otherwise always used the common names in the King's Tongue. Loghain had always found the Landsmeet custom silly and tiresome.

Alistair stepped forward. He was to give the King's Speech, the oration that set the tone for the Crown's agenda for the year. Anora could have done it better, and had done it, and could do it with her eyes closed, but she had decided that it would be more acceptable to play the role of the demure wife and expectant mother. She had relentlessly coached Alistair, forcing him to memorize the speech, making him practice, over and over. Chantry Boy had a good voice and a handsome face. Loghain was interested to see how well he pulled this off. The lad stepped forward, and then paused and smiled winningly. Loghain stood very straight. Anora never taught him to do _that._

"Lord and Ladies of the Landsmeet: my subjects, my guests…" his eyes swept the room, and then alighted on Maude, "my _friends_. Never in our lifetimes will we have a greater opportunity to make Ferelden strong, self-sufficient, and respected amongst the nations of Thedas. I greet you all, knowing that our concerns are many, but our purpose is one: the good of the kingdom. We approach this purpose from different parts of the country, with different issues, and our ideas clash and meld, creating something that is greater than the sum of its parts."

So far, so good. Anora was pleased, or doing a bloody good job of pretending to be, sitting on her throne as calm as a pregnant, purring cat.

"Life stirs with ever-returning spring, as it has done since the Maker created our world. Life will be renewed in the line of Calenhad Theirin, with the birth of a new prince or princess, which we expect at the end of Justinian!"

A roar of joy from the Landsmeet. Even Loghain found himself smiling. It had been a long, long time since the line of Calenhad had produced a child. And the child had been produced by his daughter, his lovely, clever Anora. For a moment he almost forgave her for wanting to name her son Cormac.

Alistair smiled, more gravely, and put up a hand. "Our land is healing after the agonies of the Blight. While other nations still bear the scars of Blights lasting for decades or centuries, Ferelden is valiantly overcoming its wounds. Fereldan, indeed, defeated its Blight within the space of two years: a feat unequalled in the history of Thedas!"

A cheer, growing in volume. Applause, and all eyes were turned to Loghain. Maude took the opportunity to look up at him adoringly. Loghain wanted to punch her. The Landsmeet was going for it, though: the faithful wife standing by her Hero.

"However swiftly Fereldan rose to meet this danger, it was inevitable that lives should be lost and sacrifices made. High in the reckoning of those sacrifices are those of the Grey Wardens, who give up their homes and titles and lands—often their very lives—to fight the ancient evil of the darkspawn."

Chantry Boy was doing very well: not even making faces at him. Anora had coached him painstakingly, and of course, and underneath it all was the secret belief that they were offering an empty reward.

"Stability is needed, while we rebuild and renew. It is essential that order be reestablished; and for a land to have order, it must have rulers. Several fiefdoms are now bereft of leadership. Establishing clear lines of responsibility and authority must be one of the chief goals of this Landsmeet. From teyrnir to arling to bannorn to freehold, order, firm and fair, must be established."

More applause, and hopeful, toadying expressions turned toward the King and Queen.

"Gwaren is without a teyrn, for Loghain cast aside earthly power when he accepted the duties of a Grey Warden. Who shall replace him? Can he, in fact, be replaced?"

There was some shifting and muttering. Loghain could imagine what some of the Landsmeet might be thinking. If the King, who was a Grey Warden, could be King, why could not Loghain be reconfirmed in his teyrnir? Given the precedent on the dais before them, it was not a ridiculous idea.

But that was not Anora's plan. The handful of nobles already in the know were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"And what of Senior Warden Maude Cousland, that daughter of a noble house? She traveled from sea to sea, from the Frostback Mountains to the Brecilian Forest. She won for Ferelden the allies that stood with us when the darkspawn sought to overwhelm us. She stood forth fearlessly, repeating her warnings and her admonitions. She stood beside the Dragonslayer on the day the Archdemon fell. What is to be her reward for all this? A mere, weak 'thank you?' A gold medal, and then a dismissal to the dark of the Deep Roads?"

Loghain looked down at Maude from under his eyelashes. Alistair and Anora had struck their target with that one. Nasty, very nasty. A secret, but extraordinarily low blow. Maude had gone quite still.

"No!" Alistair declared. "A thousand times no! Though Warden cannot hold titles, nothing prevents their children from doing so. Therefore, the Crown of Ferelden proposes that the firstborn child of Wardens Loghain and Maude inherit the teyrnir of Gwaren!"

A brief pause to digest this, and then considerable applause. The proposal was going down well. Maude smiled warmly, and gave the King a little bow. Loghain frowned, but everyone was used to that. The applause grew in volume. There was the brief danger that it might be passed by acclamation as it was, but Fergus Cousland bellowed, "Peace for the King's word!" and the room subsided.

By ostensibly giving away Gwaren from the very first, the Crown had cut the foundation out from under those who were concerned about both Denerim and Gwaren being held by the King and Queen. By granting the teyrnir to the child of the Dragonslayer of Ferelden, those reservations were dealt a mighty blow. Whether it was a deathblow remained to be seen.

"The Kendall family," Alistair continued, "is gone, father and son. There is now no one within four degrees of kinship to claim the Arling of Denerim. We thought long and hard about what should be done about the ancient lands of Calenhad the Great. Denerim is rebuilding and growing. It needs close attention, and a firm hand to command its development. We wish to make of this city of Denerim a jewel the like of which will swell the hearts of all true Fereldens with pride. The line of Theirin has resolved to once again take up its ancient rights, and to exercise direct rule of the city and the arling."

The Crown had made its capital demand. There followed a low, considering rumble, but no catcalls or shouts. No swords were drawn. People were well-disposed to the crown: to the pregnant Queen and the affable King. And the Crown had another advantage: there was a real dearth of noble heirs to claim the vacant titles.

Alistair glanced up at the lofty beamed ceiling, obviously trying to remember the next paragraph. Anora's lips moved, giving him the prompt. Alistair brightened, and went on: "In the coming days, we shall examine each and every fiefdom, one by one. We shall expound our plans for Denerim in greater detail. The wise counsel of the Landsmeet will be instrumental in the perfection of our plans. Let the Maker, our best aid and advisor, unite our hearts in one—our minds in one."

The seneschal knew his cue, and bellowed, "Long life to Their Majesties!"

The cheers died down after awhile. Anora beamed and waved graciously from the throne. Personally, Loghain thought she looked intolerably smug, but perhaps he ought to make allowances for her condition. Everybody else was.

Fergus gave the watchful seneschal a nod. That official called out, "The Teyrn of Highever, Fergus Cousland, is recognized by the Landsmeet!"

The young teyrn walked up to the speaker's gallery, and raised his hand, acknowledging the cheers and good wishes of his adherents.

"Thank you, my friends. Your Majesties, my lords and ladies of the Landsmeet: I know I speak for us all in applauding the King's Speech. How can we contest the need for wise leadership as we recover from the great test of our lifetimes? The Couslands have always stood by the Crown, and so it is today. I come before you with two purposes.

"The first, of course, is to share with you my great happiness in my marriage to my teyrna. Cauthrien stood at my side when the darkspawn swept through the streets of Denerim. She stands at my side now, as I restore Highever to its former glory. Our first child is expected at the end of Harvestmere. Wish us joy, my lords and ladies!"

Quite of bit of cheering and applause, but hardly a universal response. A number of women were counting on their fingers and smiling maliciously. Loghain sneered at them, and applauded Fergus. Luckily, those in favor of the marriage—or more accurately, those not in outright opposition— were clearly in the majority. It did not look as it anyone was going to challenge the marriage publicly on the floor of the Landsmeet.

"Secondly," Fergus continued. "I wish to express my support of the Crown's proposal for Gwaren. A noble reward, and a sound plan for continuity and order. By the end of the Landsmeet, I expect the plan to be perfected in every detail. I will submit my own brief to that effect in tomorrow's session."

Some cheers, many nods, and a low murmur of approbation.

"And what about Denerim?" shouted Bann Loren. "What do you think of that?" Maude scowled. Loghain sensed there was some story here that he had not yet heard.

Fergus smiled suavely. "I am extremely interested in the Crown's plan for Denerim, and I look forward to learning the details."

He left the gallery, intentionally giving the impression that he was generally in favor of the Crown's proposals, only wanting to refine them in various ways. It was a good opening gambit.

* * *

And so, the day wore on, with nobles putting forth their grievances or pet projects. Nathaniel Howe was duly proposed for the City of Amaranthine. Others were proposed for this bannorn or that. A number of betrothals were announced, and a few marriages, but none as gossip-worthy as the Teyrn of Highever's.

Bann Loren Dalriadin presented his pretty young wife and toddler son to the Landsmeet, and the marriage was recognized. For a moment Loghain thought Maude was going to challenge it.

He caught at her arm, and bent to whisper, "What is it? I thought your families were friends."

"I thought so, too. Bastard. His _wife,_ Lady Landra, and his _son,_ _Daiirren,"_ she snarled, "were staying with us when Highever was sacked. They were both murdered, and Loren never raised a protest. His own son! I knew Lady Landra was unhappy, because she was drank all the time. I'll always wonder if he was in with Howe, or just was happy to get rid of an unsatisfactory wife and a discontented son. He didn't lose any time replacing them!"

Loghain thought about this. He actually had not known that Lady Landra had died until fairly recently, when he had seen Loren with his new wife.

"Loren's an arse, but had no strong ties to Howe as far as I know. It's not the child's fault, at any rate."

Maude scowled, but relaxed. Loghain added, "Anything I should know about you and Dairren?"

She glared at him. "_No. _Lady Landra wanted me to marry him, and he was very nice, but he was much more attracted to Fergus than to me. He wanted to run off and join the Grey Wardens. Poor sod."

"Ah."

In due course, the seneschal proclaimed that the session was over for the day, and formally invited those in attendance to the King's Feast, which would begin at the first hour after sunset. Loghain kept his face impassive. In a sense, the Landsmeet would continue, the gossip and scheming periodically interrupted by eating, drinking, and dancing.

* * *

One was not supposed to wear armor at such a gathering, nor was one supposed to carry a sword: probably because of the long history of drunken nobles ruining festive occasions by trying to kill each other. Loghain dressed in his black and grey doublet, and concealed a particularly fine dagger in his boot. He prayed that Maude would not force him to dance, but in her more manic moods, anything was possible.

Maude had a maid come to help her fuss with her hair, but not as much as Loghain might have expected, and she did not wear her exquisite tiara.

"I don't want to look like a rival queen," she said briefly. "and besides, it's really uncomfortable. I'll wear Mother's hairpins. They'd be handy in a fight."

Nonetheless, she looked quite splendid— in a somber way—in her black and silver. Black was not very much worn in Ferelden, but Loghain wondered if that would change when the guests saw Maude in that gown.

She appeared to be unarmed. Only her friends knew that the black-plumed fan she carried was actually the elaborate sheath of a small but very sharp dagger. Loghain disliked the fan: it looked like an Orlesian affectation to him, but it was a clever way to disguise a weapon, and you never knew when you might need one. The fan swung from her wrist by a thin jeweled chain attached to a bracelet, making the chances of losing or mislaying her blade slim to none. And of course, she had her hairpins, with which she could probably kill an enemy thirty different ways.

The feast was always held in the King's Hall, with trestle tables set up for the occasion. It was smaller than the Landsmeet chamber, but better lit, with huge bronze braziers burning scented oil, the better to cover up the smells rising from a crowd of nobles eating, drinking, dancing vigorously, and eventually, in some cases, vomiting.

Maude, her eyes painted elegantly for battle, glanced around the field, sizing up enemy and ally alike. She gave Loghain's arm a squeeze and whispered. "There's Cousin Leonas. I'm going to talk to him." She billowed away impressively, bearing down on the arl.

Loghain was surprised to see Wulffe here: not only here, but dressed in a rich but sober doublet. He was related to the Kendalls, and had his sons lived, he no doubt would have challenged the Crown for Denerim on behalf of his younger son. They were gone now, killed by the darkspawn, and the Arl was childless. West Hill had no heir but some distant freeholding cousins. Loghain met the man's eyes, and Wulffe snorted.

"What, Loghain? Surprised to see me tricked out like an Orlesian tart's fancy-man?"

Loghain shrugged. "It's not as bad as all that. More like a Marcher lady's fancy-man."

Wulffe barked a bitter laugh. "I'm here to take a leaf from your book, Loghain. Got to find me a fresh new filly to breed West Hill foals on. Rather have my fingernails pulled, but duty's duty."

"If it helps, I can tell you that being married to my 'fresh new filly' is a wonderful thing. We're very happy together: very well-suited."

"Hmmph! You'll excuse me if I don't do my courting with a sword. Not that Maude Cousland isn't a fine girl, but she's one too many for me. If she suits you, that's as it should be. It's done you good. Everyone says so. It's like you've dropped ten years. Pity the Couslands didn't make more daughters. The pickings are slim around here. I may have to go for a freeholder's daughter or one of my knights, like Fergus Cousland."

There was a brief pang at hearing Cauthrien referred to as one of _Cousland's_ knights, but Loghain put it by. "You should choose the woman who pleases you best, with no reference to her birth," Loghain said, absolutely sincere. He had married Celia, a cabinet-maker's daughter, in the teeth of Ferelden's noble ladies, and had never regretted it. Maude had moved on now, and was standing with Fergus and Cauthrien, smiling radiantly. Cauthrien was studiously looking pleasant, but it was rather forced. She was standing exactly as if she was on guard duty. Even in blue and white satin, she looked rather menacing.

"Ha!" Wulffe quaffed down his wine, and shook his head, mildly amused. "You _would_ say that. I don't gainsay you. Look here," he lowered his voice, "what does young Maude say about her cousin Habren, Bryland's daughter? Leonas has been talking to me, but the girl seems a bit of a haughty little madam, to speak plain."

"Maude and Habren have never got on, I'm told, but I think you should get to know Habren and make up your own mind," Loghain said, not wanting to blunder into the middle of someone else's marital arrangement; or put his foot in it criticizing another man's daughter, most especially since Leonas Bryland was something of an ally. Bryland was the best fixed for heirs of all the upper nobility in Fereldan: an attractive, marriageable daughter and two sons, fifteen and twelve. Anyone who knew her gave thanks to the maker than Habren Bryland was not the heiress of South Reach. On the other hand, she had a splendid dowry, and was technically the most eligible woman in Ferelden.

Their Majesties arrived, once again in gold, and they opened the festivities with a slow—a very slow—promenade, circling the room. Lute, hautboy, and drum almost covered the chatter of gossip. Maude's eyes gleamed, and Loghain knew there was no escape. He walked over to her and took her hand. This dance was simply a silly sort of walking, so he could manage it. It was an opportunity to show off one's clothing, and Maude certainly looked her best, sparkling like a lovely, baleful star. Her appearance was as opposed to Anora's as possible, and it made her all the more striking.

Not everyone was dancing. A great many onlookers talked pretty loudly about the sight before them. The dancers ahead and behind them were free with their opinions, too. Everyone had clearly already had too much to drink. Loghain looked straight ahead, and did not allow his expression to change. He held Maude's right hand in his left, while she languidly fanned herself.

"—_She swore she'd be an Arlessa by Justinian. Swore it on Andraste's liver."_

"—_She didn't!"_

"—_My dear, it's too true! She did, and I heard…"_

"—_Don't they look handsome together? I mean, aside from her feet, which are simply enormous…"_

"—_Have you heard about Bann Teagan? His brother has demanded that he marry, and this time Teagan won't find it so easy to wriggle away…"_

"—_She says she's _pregnant!_ Can you imagine? An old woman like that? It's grotesque!"_

"—_What difference does it make, if this one turns out like the boy? The magic's on her side of the family, you know…"_

"—_All the more reason for the Arl to make his brother the heir…"_

"—_So Maude Cousland's to be a teyrna after all, more or less. I hope her pride will be satisfied now. She set her cap at Loghain years ago, and now she's to have not just the man but his lands as well…"_

"—_Ssshhhh!"_

"—_Maker!"_

"—_So we're to have a prince at last. Is she really pregnant, or is that a cushion?"_

Maude rolled her eyes, and tugged a furious Loghain along in the ridiculous silly-walk dance. Luckily, the question was answered to his satisfaction by another gossip.

"—_Oh, she's certainly pregnant. Lady Aoife saw her in the bath, and her condition was obvious. And then, too, there will be plenty of us present to witness the birthing. I think we need not fear a Chantry bastard being supplied at the critical moment."_

"—_This time!"_

"—_Did you see the new Teyrna of Highever? I mean, really!" _

"—_Cousland needs an heir. If he's certain she's carrying his child, it might seem the prudent thing to do. Hearty peasant stock, that. She's probably good for a half-dozen more…"_

_"—At least she's not a foreigner. That's something, I suppose."_

* * *

Session after session continued, hammering out the minutiae of governing Ferelden. Fergus' marriage was duly recognized. No one actually voted against it, though there were grumbling abstentions.

Nathaniel Howe was confirmed as Bann of the City of Amaranthine. The Landsmeet had always been a conservative body, and no one wanted to eliminate such an ancient family from the councils of Ferelden. No one had managed to connect Nathaniel with any of his father's wrongdoing, though there were many people who had paid good coin to agents to give it a try. No family had been attainted since the Drydens in the reign of King Arland, and considering how their cousins the Kendalls had worked out, no one wanted to cite that precedent, lest someday it be cited against them. Best not to give the Crown ideas. Delilah Howe was working out well as Arlessa of Amaranthine.

Maude and Loghain had a strong block of votes, not just from the banns sworn to Highever or Amaranthine, but from Gwaren as well. Loghain was touched to find he still had a great deal of support there. Many of his old banns quietly approached him for his opinion, and seemed inclined to still follow him. Some indeed, did not see why he could not be Teyrn, since they had a Warden King. Of course Loghain was busy, they understood. He had always been busy, and had spent much of his time in Denerim. That did not mean that he was not their Teyrn. Loghain tried to make clear the muddy issue, explaining that while His Majesty had resigned from active duty in the Wardens, he, Loghain, had been appointed Warden-Commander, and his time would be occupied putting the order on a solid footing in Ferelden. They nodded solemnly, and one or two even had the impudence to wink at him.

The Gwaren plan, in short, was encountering very little resistance, except from a corner where no one had expected any. A committee to finalize the plan, chaired by the King, was meeting in the council room, when everyone was startled by the sudden roadblock in the way of their delightful scheme.

"I don't _want_ to be 'Lord-Protector of Gwaren,'" Teagan stubbornly insisted. "Find someone else. I don't see why Maude can't do it. It's her child. She should be Regent of Gwaren. I think it's insulting not to give the position to her. Loghain has the Wardens to run. I can see that, but I don't see why someone outside their family has to be in charge of the teyrnir."

"It's just until the child grows up," Alistair wheedled. "You made _me_ be king of an entire country!"

"You were the last Theirin, and it's _your_ country," Teagan shot back. "Gwaren is _not_ mine, and I don't want that kind of responsibility. I need to get back to Rainesfere and put things in order there." He looked harassed and unhappy. "It may be that someday I'll have to take hold in Redcliffe. If the Makers wills it, I'll resign myself to it. Redcliffe is the Guerrins' home. I see that I have a duty to it. I don't see any reason to spend years and years managing a teyrnir, when there are plenty of other people who know more about it than I do, and it's not mine anyway."

Eamon took him quietly aside. Loghain could imagine the conversation. They glanced at Maude from time to time, and Eamon was no doubt presenting the scenario of Maude never bearing children. In that case, the teyrnir might indeed become Teagan's. Loghain caught the sly twitch of Eamon's thick lips. Teagan was scowling, shaking his head.

"I don't care," he said, loudly enough to be overheard. "I don't _want _it." He evaded his brother and walked over to Maude. "Look here, Maude, how do you feel about this? I'm not comfortable with this plan. It treats you like you're some sort of incompetent!"

Maude's eyes flashed in agreement—just for a moment. Then she patted Teagan's arm and smiled encouragingly. "It's very generous of their Majesties to give Gwaren to my child, Teagan. 'l'lI will be busy helping Loghain in the North with the Wardens old fortress, anyway."

Teagan snorted. "What? For a season or two? And what then? The Blight's over anyway. Of course Loghain has to keep the Wardens going, but it shouldn't be that onerous…"

Loghain scowled. People were idiots about the Wardens. It was like they forgot the darkspawn existed when they were not actually in their faces. Maude glanced his way and shot him an amused look.

Oh. Yes. He had once thought exactly that way himself. Chantry Boy was smirking at him.

Fergus, on the other hand, was very pleased with the direction things had taken.

"It's true that Maude would do very well. Yes, you would, Maude. Loghain has a good man as seneschal—what his name?—Allonby? You needn't spend a great deal of time there, but you could oversee it. And Loghain knows all about it. I agree with Teagan that it should be a family matter."

Eamon interposed gravely. "Maude leads a very dangerous life as a Warden. Despite what you think, Teagan, she has serious duties. The Wardens will be recruiting and training. They will no doubt have missions to perform. If she took over the reins in Gwaren, she would need to attend Landsmeets and she would have a vote—an important vote. Maude may even have to travel to Weisshaupt—"

"Do you?" Teagan asked, concerned.

"Not if I can help it," Maude said airily.

"I hardly think Maude having a vote in the Landsmeet counts as a problem," Fergus said testily. "For that matter, considering the size of the Warden's territory, I'm beginning to think the Warden-Commander should have one, too. I know, I know," he put up his hand. "You're all concerned about the possibility of a foreigner holding the position one day. But my friends, how easy! All we have to do is pass a decree stating that only a Fereldan can hold that position!"

"Er…Fergus?" Alistair said uneasily. "I don't think the Wardens would like that…telling them who can and can't be Commander…"

Fergus gave his King a wry smile. "Your Majesty, is the Warden-Commander of Orlais an Orlesian?"

"Well…yes."

"How do you think the Orlesians would react to a Nevarran or a Marcher…or a Fereldan… being put in command of Montsimmard?"

"I see your point, but that's Orlais, and we all know what _they're_ like."

"For that matter," Maude said thoughtfully, "The Warden-Commander in Nevarra is Nevarran, And…well…everywhere but in Ferelden, the Wardens pay due regard to national sentiment. Really, Genevieve was a one-off because there _were_ no Fereldan Wardens. And so they next appointed Duncan, who was Ferelden-born…"

Loghain refrained from snorting at the name 'Duncan.' Chantry Boy worshipped the man's memory, and it was no time to start a row about him. Maude wisely said no more, and let Fergus go on. Loghain kept his face expressionless, but wondered happily what Anora would say when she found out that the result of her scheming was to give both Maude and Loghain a vote in the Landsmeet.

Alistair was looking puzzled. "I thought you didn't _want_ the Wardens getting mixed up in politics, Maude."

"I didn't want to give the Wardens an entire _arling, _Your Majesty. I didn't want to drive Delilah Howe out of her home. I didn't want the Wardens spending time dealing with urban crime and big trade agreements and squabbles among the lesser nobility. But the Wardens have this sizable territory that nobody else really wanted, and the civilians who live there should have a voice. That's only fair. Otherwise, they'd be the only Fereldans not properly represented." She huffed a reluctant laugh. "I mean the only civilians other than the mages, the Chasind, the elves, and people in remote Frostback villages. Other than _those,_ they'd be the only people unrepresented."

"Oh," Alistair considered. "That makes sense." Teagan frowned in considered agreement.

Eamon's face was a remarkable shade of puce.

* * *

Favor for favor. Vote for vote. Deals were made, and alliances forged. Marriage alliances above all. Wulffe, Loghain heard, had escaped the toils of Habren Bryland, only to fall prey to one of her cousins, a pretty blonde widow of thirty with no land or fortune and two small children to provide for. Wulffe did not seem to mind taking on the stepchildren, as it was a solid proof of Arlessa Angharad's fecundity. And also, he freely admitted, he liked the little ones, and it would be cheerful to have them about the castle. The new Arlessa seemed a decent enough woman, and was obviously very happy to have such a comfortable home for her young family.

The announcement at the Landsmeet was greeted with some astonishment, and by Habren Bryland collapsing in a faint.

No one had succeeded in capturing Bann Nathaniel. Word was that his sister had given him six months to find a wife before she found one for him. Arlessa Delilah, despite all her suitors, seemed not very inclined to the marriage state herself.

The Gwaren arrangement was passed through the Landsmeet. Maude was to be Regent of Gwaren, until a child of hers was old enough to assume the duties of Teyrn or Teyrna. The arrangement would continue until her death or Loghain's if they had no issue. The Gwaren vote would be hers, just as the Warden's vote would be Loghain's as Warden-Commander. Loghain knew he needed to write to Weisshaupt about this arrangement. It was a sensible way to ensure that Orlais never got its hands on Soldier's Peak, which was an issue that had somewhat concerned him.

The Crown had its way with Denerim. The Queen stood up to review her plans for a university and national library, to be housed in the old estate of the Arl of Denerim. The gardens were to be open to the public, to adorn the city.

"She won't like it when people start dumping their potato peelings and dead cats there," Maude whispered to Loghain. "They'll have to post guards, or there won't be a flower left. You know Fereldans."

Loghain did. All too well.

Maude wanted Anora to be done, for she was impatiently waiting for Fergus finally to bring up the issue of the Fereldan refugees. Many felt that by deserting their country they deserved everything they got, but both Highever and West Hill needed labor.

"If they want to come home, what's preventing them?" asked Bann Reginalda.

"Quite a few would have spent their last penny for passage to Kirkwall," Bann Sighard pointed out. "They likely can't afford to take ship."

"Then they are fools and vagrants," Reginalda shot back, her eyes hard. "I haven't money to spend on such."

Wulffe shook his head. "I haven't much money at all, but I'll pay their fares if they pledge to work for me a certain amount of time. I'm not talking slavery, but maybe that old thing—_indenture_—that's what they called it. Three years good service in return for their passage back to Ferelden. I think that's fair."

The proposal attracted some interest. Fergus offered to help pay for a ship to be sent to Kirkwall. The three-year indenture proposal was eagerly taken up. Some nobles offered to go shares at once, including Wulffe. Loghain's lips thinned. Three years might seem a lifetime to those who signed such an indenture. As for it not being slavery—that would entirely depend upon who their master was. He looked about him. He could name quite a few members of the Landsmeet to whom he would rather not be bound.

* * *

The last day of the Landsmeet dawned clear. Maude decided to wear her scarlet gown to it.

"I've got heaps more than I expected from this Landsmeet, so I intend to flaunt my satisfaction in sartorial splendor," she told Loghain.

"Just don't wear the tiara," he grunted. "The boots are fine."

He would be glad when it was over. His life had been complicated by events here, but once it was done, he could organize their journey to Soldier's Peak. Maude would have to go to Gwaren some time this summer, and he would probably have to go with her, but the Peak came first. He hardly recognized the passages they strode through, completely lost in thought.

Once in the Landsmeet chamber, it seemed to him that everyone else was ready to go home as well. He had seen this fatigue, year after year. People would go home, think again, and then decide they had been done wrong. They would come to the next Landsmeet fired up to get revenge, and the whole cycle would begin again. People trickled into the Chamber. Maude had been dutiful about standing with Fergus and Cauthrien, but today she murmured to Loghain, "I'm tired. I've really had enough of being the good sister. Let's go over and stand by the other Wardens."

Teagan entered, his face downcast.

"What's wrong with him?" Maude whispered. "He looks like he's lost his last friend!" She tried to catch the handsome bann's eye, He glanced up and realized that people were looking at him. Instantly, he collected himself, and smiled genially at Maude.

"What a fake smile!" Maude hissed in Loghain's ear. "He can't fool me. Something awful has happened to him!"

A last few announcements, and a some final votes. Eamon Guerrin was looking grimly satisfied, at which Loghain felt some foreboding. Eamon being pleased about anything generally was a bad thing for him.

Teagan asked to be recognized, and assuming a decent appearance of pleasure, addressed the Landsmeet.

"My lord and ladies of the Landsmeet. I come to you with joyous news. I have secured the favor and hand of Ferelden's noblest maiden. Lady Habren Bryland and I are to be married in Denerim Cathedral on the first day of Solace. I hope all here will be present to witness the day that makes me the happiest of men!"

There was applause. Eamon joined Teagan, and Arl Bryland, with Habren, came to stand with him as well.

Maude automatically applauded politely, her eyes glazed.

"Poor fellow! I see it all now! That's how Eamon gets back at him for disappointing him about Gwaren! Doesn't Habren look pleased!"

Loghain thought Lady Habren was looking better than he had ever seen her. The usual peevishness was gone. Her eyes were bright, she was smiling triumphantly, and she was standing as close as possible to her handsome prospective bridegroom. Her faint resemblance to Maude was quite noticeable today. She was bedecked with possibly every jewel she possessed, and wore a remarkable gown of purple velvet and yellow satin that made his eyes water a bit.

"I should have foreseen this," Loghain whispered to Maude. "Eamon's after Bryland as an ally to counterbalance Gwaren in the south."

"And he's after Habren's fat dowry, too. Redcliffe needs money. I wondered what he threatened Teagan with? Isolde doesn't look happy." She made herself smile, looking about her. "It's a clever time for the wedding, too. Heaps of people will be in Denerim for the birth of the heir, and the roads should be in good condition. Come on, we have to tender our congratulations."

* * *

There was never a feast to celebrate the end of a Landsmeet. People were sick of everyone else, and as soon as the seneschal pronounced the Landsmeet at an end, there was a collective rush for the doors, accompanied by the last dregs of gossip. Some were cheerful; some bitter; some amused or horrified by the events they had witnessed.

_"—Habren thinks that Teagan will be the next Arl of Redcliffe. She'd never have him otherwise..."_

_"—And what does the Arlessa think of all this? She can't be pleased. I heard—"_

_"—Poor old Teagan. Caught like a fly in a web. It happens to the best of us, I suppose…"_

_"—I think she's pretty, don't you? Not exceptionally pretty, but "pretty enough," as they say…" _

_"—I hope Teagan puts a stop to what she does to those poor puppies. He won't turn a blind eye like her father, surely…"_

Loghain overheard that last, and turned to Maude. She made a face, and whispered, "I _hate _Habren."

_"—I'd say the Crown was the big winner this year. Got their hands on Denerim, and figured out a way to give Loghain two votes in the Landsmeet.."_

_"—True. Putting his wife in charge of Gwaren is a clever legal fiction…"_

"Excuse me," Maude said, "but I have to go kill those men."

"Maude," Loghain clutched her shoulder. "Remember? You're not so supposed to be killing people. Healer's orders."

"No, I'm not supposed to be killing people _in strenuous ways_. It'd be no trouble at all just to—"

"No."

"You're no fun anymore."

Before she could indulge in a full-blown sulk, they were intercepted by a page, who relayed an invitation to sup with the King and Queen in the Family Dining Room.

"How delightful!" Maude gushed. "I absolutely cannot wait!"

Loghain sympathized. He would rather not dine with the King and Queen tonight himself, but so it must be.

And at least they did not have to dine alone with them. Fergus and Cauthrien were there as well. Fergus was in quite a good mood, having got everything from the Landsmeet he wanted. He was happy to be going home with his pregnant wife, and happy that he had done something significant for his sister.

Cauthrien was quiet, but watching everyone very carefully. She seemed…happy…too. Yes, happy. Deeply content. And perhaps…glad to be leaving tomorrow.

Anora was dealing well with Cauthrien's ascension to the nobility. Cauthrien had always been around since they were young girls together, and it must seem normal to Anora that Cauthrien would continue to be a part of her life, though always in a subordinate position, of course.

Loghain knew that his daughter was not entirely pleased with the results of the Landsmeet. Her main point had been gained, of course. Denerim was hers, and she could make of it what will, wit, and coin made possible. She had always gone on about a university, so now she could call in her scholars to make one, however one went about making such a thing. Loghain was not sure what actual value such an institution had, but other queens had them, so Anora wanted one too.

She was not so happy that Maude had been given—however conditionally—control of Gwaren and its vassal banns. Things had not gone as she planned there, but perhaps she felt she still had only to wait five years or so before she could make her move. Her plan with Teagan had gone awry, and that must vex her.

Alistair said, "I thought Teagan was a confirmed bachelor. I guess he wanted to make the most dramatic announcement he possible could. Lady Habren is your cousin, Maude. I remember her from your wedding. She's quite pretty. I hope she and Teagan are happy together."

There were polite murmurs of assent around the table. Anora allowed, "It is a very distinguished marriage for him." Her cool tone of voice told Loghain that she was not pleased at the idea of Habren's dowry in the hands of the Guerrins, nor with Eamon for arranging the match. Teagan having temporary control of Gwaren was one thing: Eamon building a southern alliance with the Brylands was quite another.

Loghain was glad that she had someone other than himself to be annoyed with, since it was obvious that she was not happy at all about Soldier's Peak being granted a vote in the Landsmeet. Naturally, Chantry Boy had to mention the place.

"So when are you going to Soldier's Peak, Maude," Alistair asked, "and when can we visit?"

"We're leaving in four days, with our huge train of wagons and workmen. As to when Soldier's Peak can support a royal visit…hmm….I suppose it depends on whether you expect a bed or not. If so, I would guess sometime after Funalis."

"The King," Anora said coolly, "is not going _anywhere_ until after our child is born. And not very soon after that."

Alistair shrugged, but was obviously pleased that his presence was demanded by his wife.

_Totally whipped,_ Loghain thought contemptuously. "Of course," he said aloud, "it would be so much the better if the royal visit were paid by the entire royal family."

"Yes," Maude agreed. "We can build a suitable royal suite easily enough, since we're gutting the place from top to bottom. Do come. It's really a remarkable place, and we'll see that you have a lovely view of the mountains."

Anora relented slightly. "Well, perhaps. We shall see. Soldier's Peak is of considerable historical interest."

"And it could be part of a Northern royal progress through Ferelden," Fergus suggested, liking the idea. "We haven't had one in over five years. You could visit Amaranthine, Highever, West Hill… Soldier's Peak could be just one of the places you see."

"What a lovely idea!" Maude agreed. "And all your subjects will want to see you and Princess Rhoswyn."

"Or Prince Cormac!" Alistair challenged her, laughing.

"It's going to be Princess Rhoswyn," Maude insisted. "I have a _feeling _about it."

* * *

They escaped the Family Dining Room at last. Loghain looked forward to escaping Denerim altogether.

"Four more days," he muttered.

"Yes!" Maude said, nearly skipping at his side. "Back to Soldier's Peak. It's going to be such fun."

The Wardens' Compound was quiet, but Cashel had waited up for him.

"You didn't need to," Loghain told him. "I am quite capable of putting myself to bed."

"That's as may be, my lord," said the valet, "but I wanted you to know that some letters came today. Two had very impressive seals."

That was different. Loghain dismissed the servant, and then said, "Go on to bed, Maude. I'll just have a look at the correspondence."

For a moment he thought she would argue with him, and then she shrugged. "Later, then. Don't be long."

The first impressive seal was from Weisshaupt. The other was the seal of the King of Orzammar. Of the other letters, one from obviously from Leliana in Jader, and the others were communications from various craftsmen.

Duty was duty, so Loghain broke the seal of the First Warden.

It was a very interesting letter, informing him of the existence of a being called the Architect, who was a darkspawn, but of extraordinary intelligence and magical power. Loghain was warned against making deals with this being, as past experience had shown the creature to be unreliable, and to have an agenda that could _"very likely destroy all life as we know it."_ In fact, if the Architect made an appearance in Ferelden, Loghain was not to attempt to confront this dangerous being, but to notify Weisshaupt at once, and Wardens with appropriate expertise would be sent to deal with it.

Loghain snorted a laugh. Of course they had not yet received his report about the slaying of the Architect and the events in Amaranthine. Probably the letter would not arrive for another two months. The First Warden, unsurprisingly, was as useless as ever. He would show Maude the letter so they could have a laugh over it. He broke the seal of the message from Orzammar.

The King of Orzammar sent his compliments to the Dragonslayer and his Wardens. The King of Orzammar had received word that the Grey Wardens had located Kal'Hirol. The King of Orzammar commended the Wardens for their intrepidity, and would like a report as to the situation there. While little of material worth remained in the thaig, the Shaper of Memories had informed the King that there was important dwarven lore there—important historical, genealogical information—which, while of no value to other races, was of great sentimental value to the people of Orzammar.

Loghain's smile broadened. Maude had better hurry, if she wanted to clean out the treasury before the dwarves got to it. Ignoring the rest of the correspondence, he snatched up the two letters, and strode across the hall to their bedchamber.

It was dark: lit only by the fire and two candles, and Loghain was confronted by a young woman with a riding crop, wearing only a pair of red velvet boots.

"So, Grey Warden, we meet at last." Maude slapped the crop against her palm menacingly. "We have ways of making you talk. Remove your clothing at once!"

"All right."

"And stop smiling!"

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, callalili, cloud1004, sizuka2, Judy, Spoit0, Josie Lange, Aoi24, Shakespira, Phygmalion, Zute, Samara-Draven, JackOfBladesX, mutive, Enaid Aderyn, Jyggilag, tree1138, sapphiretoes, Jenna53, Angurvddel, mille libri, Tyanilth, Gene Dark, Lehni, fangirl42, and Isala Uthenera. I am so grateful for your support._

_Ferelden became a kingdom under Calenhad Theirin in Exalted 5:42._


	31. Not for the Faint of Heart

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 31: Not For the Faint of Heart**

Fergus was in a hurry to go home. He and Cauthrien stayed only a day after the end of the Landsmeet before the Highever banner was unfurled over the departing retinue.

Maude visited long enough in that last day to give her brother a parting kiss and her best wishes, and returned to the compound in a thoughtful mood. Ranger trotted into the study ahead of her and pressed against Loghain's thigh in a friendly, packmate-ish sort of way.

"They're going to be all right," Loghain assured her.

"Probably, " Maude allowed. "As long as Cauthrien doesn't use the 'c' word."

Loghain broke off from reading a very strange letter sent by the Grand Cleric of Hercinia, and looked at her from under his brows. "The 'c' word? There are so many possibilities…"

"'Churl.'"

Maude perched on the desk and took the letter he was reading out of his hands, muttering, "Send them some Ashes of Andraste? They wish!_"_ She tossed the letter aside, and gave him a brilliant smile. "I had a private chat with Cauthrien, and explained to her that the Teyrna of Highever was so much more important than ordinary people that she had no need to insult anybody. Calling someone a churl implies insecurity. And it's rude. My mother never called people names...except when she was actually killing them. That's different. Anyway, Cauthrien apologized for calling me that, so I suppose we're all right now. Pretty much. I really can't think of anyone I would have preferred as a sister-in-law. Fergus could have done lots worse…as in Habren the Hag. Poor Teagan! And I'm going to be an aunt again, which is always good. Caradoc and Cicely."

"What?"

"The names they've chosen. Cauthrien said they had sweet cicely in the garden where she grew up, and she liked it a lot. Too many 'c's' again, but that just my opinion. They're not bad names. Fergus likes 'Ceridwen' better, so we'll see who wins." She fidgeted a bit and then said, "Fergus hopes people will let him alone now…about the Landsmeet and not being king."

Loghain slouched in his chair, thinking. Yes. There had been muttering. Fergus Cousland had the best legal claim to the Crown in all Ferelden: a well-documented claim of inheritance by legitimate direct bloodline. Loghain hated thinking that way, but it was true. Had Cousland wished to, he could have plunged the nation into civil war again. Luckily for everyone, he simply wanted to go home to Highever.

Maude went on, "He won't tell me the names, because he doesn't want to get them in trouble, but a lot of people think Alistair is a big fat fake. Except for not being fat at all. Most of them even like him. But you know, he _is _an unacknowledged bastard, and there are those who will always believe Eamon plucked a boy who looked a little like King Maric out of nowhere, and used him to oppose you."

"In a sense, they're right," Loghain said brusquely. There was no solid evidence of any kind that Alistair was actually Maric's son. No one now alive had witnessed the birth. There was only Eamon's claim that Maric had _said_ that Alistair was his son. The serving maid mother was dead. There was no Chantry certificate, and no statement sworn under oath. Maric had never spoken of the boy at Redcliffe to Loghain, except once, when Loghain had been taxed by questions from Cailan after a visit, and had gone to Maric for answers. Even then, Maric had not said explicitly, "He is my son," but had danced about the matter, saying first that he wanted the boy "to have a normal life," and then muttering something shame-faced about "preserving Rowan's memory." The most that Loghain himself could swear to was that Maric had certainly _implied_ that Alistair was his. And now that Loghain was Chantry Boy's father-in-law, any such statement would be dismissed as self-serving.

When Anora's time came, she would bear her child in the presence of a good part of the female contingent of the Landsmeet, to make certain that no one could later claim that a little pretender had been smuggled in with a bundle of linen. Loghain wanted Maude there, certainly, to uphold the child's provenance. No one could _swear_ that Alistair was the father, other than Anora, of course, but Anora was a discreet girl, and avoided even the slightest appearance of impropriety.

He knew what the Landsmeet said about Anora, for that matter. It was true she had no blood claim to the throne. Her claim to the throne had essentially consisted in the fact that she was sitting on it. It had helped immeasurably that she was competent. Ordinarily the childless widow of a king was given the title Queen Dowager, a decent manor, and a pension. She was then expected to fade into obscurity, surrounded by cats; or take vows in the Chantry. Anora—even without fatherly partiality—was simply too good for that.

Fergus did not want the throne, thank the Maker. The young man had the power to make everyone's life extremely difficult, but had not done so. Had he made an appearance earlier, Loghain might well have been forced to make peace with him, and Anora to coopt him into a marriage alliance, though it had seemed she would not have found that onerous.

So Ferelden was at peace, as far as it was possible for a country so full of enterprising, able-bodied, and easily irritated people to be at peace. A King and Queen occupied their thrones without any outright rebellion or even significant clandestine opposition. An heir was on the way, which would make the shaky Theirin-Mac Tir regime far more secure. The Army, deprived of Loghain, was operating well enough, a well-oiled machine moving along on its own inertia.

Loghain said aloud, "As long as the Orlesians don't invade, the Chasind don't march out of the south, Flemeth doesn't return, and the darkspawn don't find another Old God, all is well."

"Don't say that!" Maude scolded. "Saying 'All is well' is like throwing down the gauntlet to Fate! You might as well caper naked in the street in a thunderstorm, yelling, "Oi, Maker! I dare you to smite me with a thunderbolt!"

"I admit," Loghain smirked, "that capering naked while defying the Maker sounds much more like something_ you_ would do."

* * *

Armies might march on their bellies, but proper mastery of logistics provided the victuals. The caravan of wagons to Soldier's Peak would resemble a small army: they would have to marshalled and disciplined. Food would be cooked, latrines dug, tents pitched.

Loghain had carefully planned out the route, with all their stops marked on his map. Their next to last camp would be in the Knotwood Hills, giving them the opportunity to finish looting the dwarven treasury of Kal'Hirol. They must stop at the little village of Knotwood this time, and also pay a call to Breaker's Cove.

The first order of business at the Peak would be to render the outbuildings and one or two rooms in the castle habitable. Nobody would want to live in a tent all summer. Once the builders were set to work, Maude would take some wagons and make a side trip to Drake's Fall and the Dragonbone Wastes, so collect every scrap of precious dragonbone she could find. The cellars of Soldier's Peak were not in prime condition, but the dragonbone would keep there, until a proper market could be found for it.

The building plans for Soldier's Peak were engrossing, but Maude was even more engrossed in building her very own baby. Other than the repulsive potions foisted on them by their mages, Loghain found little to object to in his own duties therewith.

One morning, after he had performed said duties to her satisfaction, Maude said,"Anders is tired of me going to him every single day and making him do that blue-flashy-glowy thingy he does. Every day he says no, I'm not; but soon he'll say yes, I am. I have a _feeling _about it. Besides, I like the colored lights."

Maude was not the only female consulting with Anders. His skills had revealed that Topaz was expecting puppies. She was not so far along that she would need to ride in the wagon, but in another month she would need rest and quiet. Loghain vowed that she would be the best cared-for mother in Ferelden.

Other than his daughter. Anora was growing nervous as her belly grew bigger. She was very put out about Wynne's absence.

"She said she'd only be gone a month!" Anora complained. "A month at the most! She told me that nothing ever happens at those mages' conferences, and that it would be done and over in no time! What can be keeping her?"

Loghain left Alistair to do the reassuring. It was a husband's duty, after all. Chantry Boy would be better at it than Loghain. It would be no doubt a bit of "Maker's gaze blah-blah-blah" and bit of "Andraste's mercy blah-blah-blah" which, while utterly useless, would be better than Loghain's own pessimistic views on the matter. He disliked Wynne like a festered toe, but it would not help Anora to hear that the old woman's ship had very likely gone down in a storm, or been captured by pirates, or Qunari, or by Orlesians unimpressed by her letters of transit signed by the King and Queen of Ferelden.

"Or she could have been set upon by bandits," Maude added cheerfully, when he confessed his misgivings to her. "or by feral cats. I hear the streets of Cumberland are practically _carpeted_ with them. Or maybe the Templars got fed up, and rendered the entire College of Magi Tranquil. I'll bet there are Templars just itching to do that, especially if the mages do something provocative, like vote for independence."

In the end, Anora made him promise to send Anders to her, if another month passed without Wynne. Morrigan was displeased, and came to the study to express her views to Loghain and Maude.

"That tiresome old woman is endlessly eager to instruct others in their duty, but always somehow rationalizes doing exactly what she herself wants to do. The Circle is nearly destroyed, and needs rebuilding? Wynne must travel hither and yon, exhorting the Grey Wardens to virtue instead. The Queen appoints her her personal Healer? Wynne must go traipsing off to a pointless, ridiculous confabulation with her fellow tame mages in a distant land."

"You're right," Maude agreed, thinking it over. "I remember the First Enchanter saying that Wynne never liked to stay in one place for long. Maybe she's just not a good choice for Court Healer. Anora trusts Anders, so we'll have to play nice, but I really think she needs to tell the Circle to send her someone else to take over from Wynne. Who knows when she'll come back? In a month? In a year? In the next Age?

"And when she does," Morrigan said acidly, "whatever has befallen, she will not hesitate to tell you that she did nothing other what her _duty_ imperiously called on her to do!"

"I'll talk to Alistair," Maude promised. "There was a young woman in the Circle who studied with Wynne—Petra, I think her name was. She seemed nice. Maybe they could send her. I think Wynne is pretty far over the horizon by now." She got up, and smirked at Morrigan. "Let's go make Anders do the blue-flashy-glowy thing again!"

* * *

Three days before they were to leave for Soldier's Peak, they received something more than a letter from Weisshaupt. A middle-aged woman came to the Compound, and after giving her name and her business, was brought to the study and Loghain's attention.

The new arrival's name was Mistress Woolsey—Mistress Diaphanta Woolsey. She was a stern-faced, no-nonsense woman from Tantervale. She had a letter of introduction bearing the Grey Warden seal, assuring Loghain that this individual was to be trusted with Grey Warden secrets. With her came with a band of six Grey Wardens hailing variously from the Free Marches, from Nevarra, and from Weisshaupt itself.

Ranger and Topaz stood up to sniff at the strangers, massive heads down, eyes narrowed in doggy suspicion, stumpy tails at the ready to smite the enemy. Mistress Woolsey and the Wardens had clearly never seen mabari before. There was a pause for mutual eyeballing.

"Those are the _dogs!"_ one young Warden whispered eagerly to his friend. "They _must _be. Those Ferelden _dogs_…you know…Marvellis, Myfairies…"

"_Mabaris!"_ Loghain barked. The dogs barked, too, in noisy, joyous accord. The visitors eyes widened, just a bit.

"—Mabaris," the young Warden hissed. "That's right. I heard that the Fereldans have trained them to fight darkspawn!"

Maude strolled in, leaning against the door frame. The Wardens' eyes instantly fixed on her. She was certainly worth looking at. "You're absolutely right," she agreed. "Ranger over there is a Grey Warden himself."

One of the visitors laughed nervously. Maude glared at him.

"Did you ever bite an Archdemon? No? Well, Ranger did, so he outranks you!"

More laughter, some very amused and friendly. The dogs continued to sniff at the newcomers. The men smelled right, and might be pack, given time. The woman was different: not angry or fearful or _bad,_ but _different..._

And she asked to speak privately to the Warden-Commander, while the visiting Wardens were shown to the Hall and given a hearty "snack."

* * *

Mistress Woolsey had not arrived empty-handed. In addition to the six Wardens, she had brought a heavy iron-bound chest containing five thousand gold sovereigns. In the letter from the First Warden, it was made clear that Mistress Woolsey was henceforth their official Treasurer, and that only she was to dispense funds from the formidable chest. Maude was livid.

"You're our new Treasurer? The First Warden sent us a _Treasurer? _We've only killed the bloody Archdemon, the Architect and the Mother! Now he thinks we need someone to do our _counting_ for us?"

Mistress Woolsey frowned. Loghain wondered what she made of the tall, beautiful, turbulent young girl pacing the floor. The Marcher woman sat very straight in her chair, like a soldier at attention, and her shrewd eyes flicked between Loghain and Maude. She said, "The First Warden has every confidence in the Fereldan Wardens' loyalty in matter of arms. But gold corrupts even the most resolute soul."

"The First Warden said _that?"_ Maude hissed, her eyes black as her rage. "Would that be the same First Warden who couldn't be arsed to lift a finger to help me during the only Blight in _four hundred years_? The one who didn't send me so much as a Warden, a handful of silver, or even a word of advice? The First Warden can go fuck himself!" She turned her back on the woman. "Loghain! The First Warden thinks we're corrupt!"

Mistress Woolsey was offended. "Young woman, there is no need to use such language in my presence. Warden-Commander—"

"Maude," Loghain interposed, "while I agree with you completely about the First Warden, Mistress Woolsey here is _not_ the First Warden, and she has just arrived after a long and arduous journey to bring us _five thousand sovereigns."_ He paused. A weighty pause, worthy of five thousand pieces of gold. Maude calmed somewhat, thinking it over. Loghain gave her a look. "All right?"

"All right." She turned to the new arrival, her voice now redolent with suave conciliation. "I beg your pardon, madam. I should not have shouted at you. You are not at fault for the First Warden abandoning me during the Blight. It will be wonderful that the Wardens can at last be paid. Nobody's been paid since before Ostagar, I believe. I've never been paid a copper myself."

Mistress Woolsey was thunderstruck. "Not _paid?_ How have you been surviving?"

Maude gazed at her, astonished in her turn. "The old-fashioned way. By looting the lifeless corpses of our defeated foes." She paused, and tried to make it clearer. "By killing people and taking their stuff."

"I am familiar with the concept of plunder," the older woman said dryly.

"Excellent!" Maude approved. "Then you'll fit right in!"

Fitting the stern treasurer in would, of course, take some effort. She was not a Warden, though she was employed by the Grey Wardens, and seemed absolutely dedicated to them. Maude, remembering her manners and her duties as Senior Warden, was civil enough to vacate her old room completely, moving her things into the room that she and Loghain used. It was a bit cluttered, but much of it was being carted away to Soldier's Peak in a few days.

Mistress Woolsey believed in living simply, and settled in with quick efficiency, setting up her office, beginning a new account book, using Maude's enlistment rolls to calculate who was due what, and finding out from Maude who was still alive to collect it. Most of the large room was dedicated to establishing and maintaining the Grey Warden treasury in a sound and fiscally reliable fashion. A screen hid a plain bed, a washstand, a wardrobe, and a chest.

* * *

And there were the visiting Wardens to host. They were given rooms in the tower and time to make themselves presentable, and then summoned to a festive dinner than Maude had ordered from the kitchens. The visitors were astonished at the tiny number of Ferelden Wardens, but greeted them with great respect. Of course, the ones who did not stare at Maude were staring at Morrigan.

After even Wardens had eaten enough, they had Warden business to discuss. Keenan quietly whispered to a very put-out Nida that she must leave the room. She did, her retreating back radiating annoyance. Loghain sent out the servants, had the doors shut, and gave their visitors the story of the Architect in brief. Maude was working on the written report, which the Grey Wardens from Weisshaupt, Wolfram and Ragnar, would take back to the First Warden with them. It was hard not to be insufferably smug in light of the awful warnings they had received…after the fact. Their visitors were quite impressed. They were absolutely in awe when shown Loghain's Archdemon armor.

Of course they wanted to know the truth behind the rumors about the mysterious ancient Warden mage Avernus. They wanted the story of the battle with the Archdemon in Loghain's own words. Valentine, the younger of the two Marcher Wardens, hung on every single detail.

"It's such a privilege to meet you, Loghain!" he exclaimed, his handsome young face alight. "You're a legend among us! Everyone wanted the chance to come and see you, and I won the lottery!"

Oghren snorted, shaking his head.

The elder of the two Marchers, Godfrey, smiled indulgently. He and Valentine had introduced themselves as cousins, both originally from Starkhaven. "It's true," he agreed. "And now everyone deeply regrets not coming to join in during the Blight. Orders are orders, but some are harder to obey than others."

The men from Weisshaupt frowned and fidgeted, but did not attempt to disagree.

"Well, I wish you _had _disobeyed them," Maude retorted. "Alistair and I spent over a year collecting the allies with the help of non-Warden volunteers. We really could have used more Wardens, especially in the Deep Roads. It wasn't until Riordan came on his own from Jader that we even knew basic facts about killing the Archdemon."

"I regret that with all my heart," said Valentine, his huge blue eyes earnest. Loghain narrowed his own. The visiting Wardens, by and large, admired Maude very much, and grasped, better than the rest of the world did, what she had done. And some of them very obviously admired her looks_._

Pyrrhus and Telamon, the Nevarran Wardens, whispered quietly in their native language, and asked endless questions about dragons. Pyrrhus turned a little green at Sigrun's cheerful descriptions of delicious dragonling feasts.

Telamon was an elf, the only elf in the party, and was something of a scholar. In addtion to his keen interest in dragons, he was full of the lore of previous Blights, and was eager to learn how the Fifth Blight had resembled and differed from the rest.

"Could the differences lie somewhat in the nature of this particular Archdemon itself?" he wondered.

"—which is to speculate," Maude put in, "on the possibility that Urthemiel was a particularly incompetent Old God to begin with. There's nothing in _The Dragons of Tevinter_ to suggest that, but I will say that Urthemiel as Archdemon was something of an idiot."

"A _dangerous_ idiot," Loghain growled.

"Idiots often are," Morrigan smirked. "'Tis sad but true."

The Ferelden Wardens also had their share of questions.

"I want to know about griffons," Maude declared. "What happened? Life as a Warden would be a lot easier with a griffon to ride, you know."

Ragnar rumbled an indulgent chuckle. Wolfram said, "All our lives would be easier with griffons. The creatures were stricken by a strange disease at the beginning of the Storm Age. As you know, at that time all of Thedas was involved in the Exalted March against the Qunari invasion. Some scholars among the Wardens believe that the disease might be linked in some way to the Qunari. When they arrived in their ships, they brought many new plants and even a kind of rat that had never before been seen in Thedas. Also, it was the griffons at the Grey Warden fortress at Ayesleigh—the one closest to the Qunari-that sickened first. At any rate, much to the Wardens' sorrow, the griffons wasted and died, and by the beginning of the Blessed Age, our paddocks were empty. Now and then we get a random report of someone sighting a griffon in the Hunterhorn Mountains, but all the sightings are unconfirmed."

"Too bad," Anders remarked, rather smugly. Flying was a lot of fun. Morrigan flicked him a secret smile.

"Such a shame," Valentine agreed, "They must have been magnificent."

Godfrey of Starkhaven said grimly, "Another reason to detest the Qunari. As if we needed it."

"That reminds me," Loghain said, "…are there any Qunari Wardens?"

"No," replied Wolfram. "They do not recognize the Right of Conscription. There have been…incidents."

"I see."

"And they are somewhat insulated from the darkspawn," Ragnar added. "They mostly live on Par Vollen and Seheron, which are islands, of course, and separated from the rest of Thedas by wide stretches of deep water. And the Qunari did not even make an appearance until a hundred years after the Fourth Blight. Darkspawn are something they know little about."

Oghren withdrew his attention from the bottom of his tankard to say, "That's right! The Deep Roads couldn't be built under deep ocean beds. Not even darkspawn can tunnel under them. Lucky Qunari!"

The mind's eye of Maude was still focused on griffons. "Hunterhorn Mountains, eh?"

Loghain groaned inwardly.

* * *

Mistress Woolsey did not believe in procrastination. She was up and at work early the next day, and her first order of business was to get the Wardens paid. Kristoff had left records of his own men, and Keenan appeared on them. The rest of the Fereldan Grey Warden records had largely been destroyed.

Maude was not pleased that there was no hiding the money they had received from other Grey Wardens, nor from the Teyrn of Ostwick. That chest was counted, and the fifty-sovereign bonuses to the surviving Wardens duly recorded. Mistress Woolsey saw nothing amiss in granting them. She was only puzzled that Loghain and Maude had not been paid them as well.

"And no one has been paying their tithes!" she tutted. "Not even the Crown! I realize that nobles and nations are often insolvent after a Blight, but surely the Wardens deserve better after such a swift and decisive victory!"

"They've given us land instead," Maude pointed out. "A sizable demesne. It's not very productive at the moment, but we believe there's a lot that can be done with it. And we'll have Soldier's Peak again, of course…"

"Yes, the old fortress. It must be very dilapidated after two hundred years, surely?"

Loghain smiled as Maude proudly showed her the detailed plans for the renovations. Mistress Woolsey, predictably, asked how all this was being paid for.

"Well, I've saved quite a bit of loot," Maude said, lying brilliantly by omission, as she neglected to disclose that a lot of the loot was from the looted treasury of Soldier's Peak itself. "And my brother the teyrn gave me some coin…"

Loghain smirked, but helped her out. "…As you know, I was formerly a nobleman, and was not exactly poor. We have sufficient funds for our plans."

"It is extremely generous of you," Mistress Woolsey said stiffly, "to fund improvements for the Grey Wardens out of your own pockets. Most generous indeed. However, _you should not have to!_ The reason that the First Warden granted you such a large sum was for just such a purpose. Certainly, future expenditures should be paid out of the Grey Warden treasury."

Maude was very pleased with her for saying so: so pleased that she only laughed when she received her pitiful back pay for her time in the Wardens, a sum which Mistress Woolsey calculated from her recruitment at Highever. A recruit's pay was negligible. From the time of Ostagar to shortly after the Battle of Denerim, Maude was due a stipend as a junior Grey Warden, which was her official rank. That she had functioned as the Acting Warden-Commander was not, alas, something that could be reflected in the pay records, as the First Warden had never approved the promotion. As of the date of Loghain's appointment as Warden-Commander, Mistress Woolsey bent the rules enough to pay Maude as a Senior Warden, as that rank could be appointed by the post commander on the spot. Senior Warden pay was appreciably more than that of a junior Warden. The pay of a Warden-Commander was enough to raise Loghain's brows a bit. Sometimes he forgot that many other countries were far richer than Ferelden.

It was this difference in background and expectations, probably, in addition to Maude's sweet voice, that allowed Mistress Woolsey not to bat an eye at their plans: not even at the inlaid marble floor Maude wanted for the Great Hall. None of it looked absurd or extravagant to her, because she clearly had seen her share of great palaces and impressive fortresses and thought marble floors perfectly normal for such an important edifice. Loghain sensed that Maude was a bit annoyed by that. Perhaps he was, too.

Then there was the question of Alistair. It was decided that he was due junior Warden pay through the date of the fateful Landsmeet. He had publicly resigned from active Warden duty there, and Maude failed to see how the Wardens could possibly owe him a continuing stipend. Mistress Woolsey—and the visiting Wardens, for that matter—felt the entire issue of "resigning" from the Wardens was a problematic one; but since Warden Alistair had resigned to be King of Ferelden—and since the Wardens wished him to remain favorable to the order, it was not being challenged. Senior Warden Wolfram, however, made clear that it was not going to stand as a precedent.

Mistress Woolsey was helpful enough to hint that if Loghain wished someone to be paid as Senior Warden Mage, he should inform her of the appointment. Morrigan was highly gratified to be given her pay, back-dated to her Joining. With her loot, her bonus, and now her pay, she clearly felt quite rich. She and Anders spent hours in the Market, especially at the Wonders of Thedas, purchasing books, magical items, and custom-designed enchantments. Loghain suspected that the Mage's Tower at Soldier's Peak would be nearly as well-equipped as the Circle. To begin with. After Morrigan and Anders had a bit more time, it might even be better.

"I hope Leliana's been paid, too," Maude remarked, waving the bard's latest letter at the supper table. "Leliana was with us during the Blight and Joined the Wardens later," she told the visitors. "She's very nice."

Morrigan rolled her eyes.

"She _is,"_ Maude insisted. "She went back to Jader with Riordan," she went on, mostly to Valentine and Godfrey. "Please excuse me while I glance at this letter. Oh!" she laughed. "Just as we're off to Soldier's Peak, Leliana's is writing so I know where to direct my letters! She and Riordan are in Val Royeaux now. Don't be like that, Loghain... Anyway, she and Riordan were received by the Empress—this was months ago, of course—and were honored and given presents. Riordan's sort of Court Warden right now, which is very unusual since he's not nobly born. Apparently actually getting a lick in at the Archdemon can be substituted for blue blood. So they've gone to lots of masked balls and bacchanals and orgies. She says that Riordan is getting a bit restless, which probably means he's bored out of his skull by now."

"Orgies?" Oghren grunted. "Maybe I'm in the wrong outfit."

* * *

Six Wardens had not been an unreasonable force to guard the treasure the First Warden had sent, but now that the treasure would remain in Ferelden, it appeared that some of the Wardens might, too.

Wolfram and Ragnar would take the Fereldans' report back to the First Warden, after having a look at Soldier's Peak. Pyrrhus and Godfrey would travel with the Weisshaupt Wardens as far as the Minanter River. Loghain was interested, as an armchair traveler, in hearing their plans. They would take ship in Highever, and sail, not to Kirkwall as he might have imagined, but further west to Cumberland.

Godfrey explained. "We can take the Imperial Highway north from there to Carathel, at the Great Minanter Bridge. Wolfram and Ragner can head due north on the Highway; Pyrrhus can ride west along the River Road to Nevarra; and I will go downriver by barge to Tantervale. It is actually must faster that way than trying to cross the Vimmark Mountains that surround Kirkwall. The Planasene River is not navigable all the way between that city and Tantervale."

Valentine and Telamon approached Loghain separately, but each had the same request: to join the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Telamon wanted to know all about the nation and the Wardens that had defeated a Blight in record time. Valentine was clearly seeking adventure in a new and exotic land. Loghain was a bit baffled by an outsider's notion that Ferelden was _exotic,_ but foreigners were a peculiar lot, and there seemed no harm in the fellow. He was big, healthy, and a decent swordsman, which was always useful. He looked at Maude a bit too much, but many men did. He seemed well-disposed toward the dogs, too.

Nor were Valentine and Telamon the only ones interested in the Grey Wardens. A pair of the guardsmen who had traveled with them on their Amaranthine adventure came to Loghain one afternoon, asking to be recruited. Loghain knew one of them quite well: Sergeant Darrow, who had been detailed from Maric's Shield. He was a bluff, big, ginger-bearded man from Gwaren, and a most reliable soldier. Had Loghain still commanded the army, he would have resented the loss of Darrow. Now he welcomed the gain to the Wardens, and hoped the man would survive. The other man, lean and dark-haired Sergeant Kain, he recalled from his brave service in the civil war. Neither man was married, neither owned land of his own, and both felt rather at loose ends in the new order.

"It's like this, my lord—er, Warden—er, Commander," said Darrow, red-faced and bashful. "Kain and I were always proud to serve under you. Real proud. Don't seem right not to anymore. Not natural. So Kain and I reckoned we'd just as soon join the Wardens, 'cos then we can serve under you again, see?"

"Begging your pardon, Commander," said Kain, "I hear the Wardens have a big fortress up in the Coast Mountains, and you'll be wanting a hand putting it in order. You'll be recruiting more Wardens, we reckon, and you'll want 'em trained. For that you'll want sergeants. Like us. Maybe." The fox-like, rugged face was touchingly hopeful.

"You'd be very welcome," Loghain said at once. "Both of you. But I have to warn you that it's a hard life. It's darkspawn most of the time, and the dark of the Deep Roads. Some recruits don't even survive joining up. There are a lot of things that I'm not even allowed to tell you, and they're not good."

"Well," shrugged Kain, "Darrow and me reckon that's all part of life's rich pageant, as it were."

Loghain smiled wryly, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Be ready to march in two days."

* * *

The visiting Wardens were presented to the King and Queen. Loghain watched the visitors with some concern, since he was keenly aware that none of them really approved of a Warden leaving the order, even to be a king. The younger ones seemed more sympathetic once they had seen Anora, and were no doubt creating romantic fantasies that they would pass on to their friends at home.

"Ragnar says that they'd like to see the 'real' Denerim," Keenan told Loghain afterward.

Loghain snorted. "They want to visit the brothels."

Oghren overheard. "'Course they do, and it's a fine idea! I'll take 'em with me. You'd better not go, sonny," he smirked at Keenan, "lest the little woman get her knickers in a twist." Then he had the unmitigated gall to smirk at Loghain. "And we all _know_ what Maude would do if she heard about you visiting the Pearl..."

Loghain dismissed that with the contempt it deserved. "I'm not likely to see a woman at the Pearl who is one-tenth as attractive as Maude. Besides, if Maude heard I was going to Pearl, she'd insist on coming along so she could get in some sort of ridiculous brawl and pick the pockets of the clientele. We'll both take a pass. Have our guests get it all out their system. We are leaving for Soldier's Peak the day after tomorrow. If they're not in any shape to go, they can bloody well stay in Denerim and go _live_ at the Pearl, for all I care."

He was glad enough to have the foreigners distracted so he and Maude could finish working on their expedition. All the Wardens but Oghren were tasked with making the rounds of the craftsmen who would be part of the wagon train to Soldier's Peak.

"And once construction is under way," said Maude," we might consider sending some of the Wardens out to do a bit of recruiting. Not a lot," she hastened to add, "since we won't have proper quarters for them for a few months, but _some. _Perhaps a dozen or so. Think of all the out-of-work mercenaries in this country. You'd think some of them would be happy to find permanent employment."

"You would probably be the best choice," Loghain said, rather sourly. "You'd persuade no end of poor bastards to follow wherever you led."

She kissed him on the nose. "That is such a sweet thing to say! You and I should go to Gwaren at some point, so we can cut a recuiting swathe through the country, and combine the trips in one."

"We can't _both_ go," he objected. "Not until we have a better succession plan in place. Who would we leave in command? Oghren? Anders? _Morrigan? _No. I'll write a letter to Allonby, and you'll go to Gwaren." He got up and rummaged through his maps, and then spread one of them out on the table, tracing a route with his fingertip. "West Hill. We might have luck there. Then the Circle. See if you can pry a young mage out of them for Morrigan and Anders to torture. Through the Bannorn, then to South Reach. Then through the Brecilian Passage to Gwaren."

Maude nodded. "And then I might come back by ship so none of the recruits can think again and run away!"

"Don't travel by ship," he growled. "It's a ridiculously dangerous."

Her mischievous smile did not reassure him.

* * *

Keenan returned late that afternoon to make his report, and then asked Maude, "Have you seen Nida? She must be doing some last-minute shopping, but I don't like her to go out all alone. You're here, and so are Morrigan and Sigrun. It worries me."

"Haven't seen her," Maude said. "Loghain and I have been closeted here most of the day."

Keenan worried more, as dinner was served in the Wardens' Hall, and no Nida appeared.

"I'll help you look for her," kind-hearted Sigrun promised. "Let's get a bite to eat and we'll go out. She's probably still at the Market and lost track of the time."

"I'll come along," Anders said, and shot a look back at Morrigan who was openly disdainful. "Yes, we _will._ It's not safe after dark for a woman alone."

Maude blew out a breath and made a face at Loghain. This was ridiculously inconvenient. They had no business running after that silly woman. Obviously, they would have to.

"I would be happy to come along," Valentine assured Maude earnestly. "But I must search with a partner, as I do not know the city well. Perhaps I could be with you?"

Just as the search was actually being arranged, a messenger arrived, making it all unnecessary.

He was a pert little boy with a folded piece of parchment. The seneschal took the parchment from him, saw that it was addressed to a Warden, and brought it to the Hall at once. Keenan snatched at it, read it, and sat unmoving, as if turned to stone.

Morrigan raised her brows at Maude, who blew out a breath. Anders slid down in his seat. There was a general air of apprehension, as Keenan tried to pull himself together and speak. After trying and failing, he choked out, "Excuse me," and hurried from the hall.

"I'll go talk to him, " Maude said instantly, and dashed after him.

"If she got her throat slit, he'd be yelling and waving a blade, so it's not that. Dumped him, hasn't she?" Oghren speculated. _"Women."_

Sigrun elbowed him, with mild indignation. "I'm a woman, and I haven't dumped _anybody. _Don't generalize. Besides, I seem to recall that you've done your share of dumping yourself!"

Some of the visitors found it all very awkward and uncomfortable. Wolfram was more blasé .

"_Ja_, some women cannot accustom themselves to life among the Wardens. It is not for the faint of heart."

"Possibly she was apprehensive about living in an isolated fortress," said Telamon, more gently. He was trying to make friends with the dogs, and Ranger and Topaz were shamelessly exploiting him for tidbits.

"She would find fewer _shops_ there, certainly," Morrigan sneered. "She has been spending a great deal of Keenan's coin."

"Maybe she's just too _normal,"_ Anders speculated.

Loghain put a stop to the gossip—at least at the table. "He won't thank us for talking about him. We'll hear the story when we hear it. Godfrey, you mentioned something about Deep Roads discoveries near Kirkwall..."

Maude came back after a little while. She paused, and then as everyone fell silent, took her place.

"Yes, Nida's gone. Keenan needs a bit of time to himself, but he told me to give you the story, and then never to ask him about it or even mention it. I didn't read Nida's letter, but he told me what was in it. Mostly."

She took a sip of wine, and said, "I might as well put it plainly since Keenan isn't here to be hurt by the words. Nida's going home to Orlais. She's been planning her getaway for the past several days. She sneaked out of the Compound early this morning and took ship. She had to tell him that her heart was broken about the death of her lover who died saving her in Amaranthine! What a way for Keenan to learn about that! And that's not all: she gave an entire list of why we drove back to Orlais. She never liked Ferelden anyway. She doesn't like any of us. She can't stand having dogs in a room where she eats. She thinks Wardens are creepy. Which we are, rather, but she needn't have pointed that out, if she is really as well-bred and refined as she considers herself. Except for Keenan, who in her opinion is boringly nice. She thinks he's too soft, which only shows that she's never seen him fight. Apparently she went into detail about each of us, but Keenan didn't want to share those bits. Anyway, she doesn't want to go to Soldier's Peak, which would be even more horrible than horrible Denerim. Oh, and she took all of Keenan's money, because he doesn't really need it as much as she does, since the Wardens will take care of him. In fact, it was the fifty-sovereign bonus that convinced her she could manage it, so she took it. And the expensive clothes that were given her in gratitude for Keenan's brave deeds...as a Warden. And all the jewels Keenan bought or found for her. I'd like to kill that bitch, and I will, if I see her again. It's one thing if she wants to go her own way, but she didn't have to be cruel about it."

"He is well rid of her," Morrigan said, her voice hard. "She was weak and useless. We are all well rid of her."

Not a voice was raised in opposition. Wolfram nodded. "It is as I said. This life is not for the faint of heart."

"For _anyone,"_ Anders muttered.

"Shoulda taken him to the Pearl," Oghren muttered. "Wonder when it closes?"

* * *

They rode out on the sixteenth day of Cloudreach under a benevolent sun. Anders and Oghren were clad in their new Archdemon armor, Master Wade's latest creations. Oghren's was imposing, and Anders' rather more fanciful. It resembled Morrigan's in some ways, and sported raven feathers and fur that suspiciously resembled cat. Anders had mastered his avian form—unless distracted—but thought two forms would be all he could manage. Shape-shifting was not so natural to him as it was to Morrigan, who had learned the skill at a young age. Wade was still working on Sigrun and Keenan's armor, and those would be sent later.

Keenan brooded, and the look in his eye was such that everyone was too sensible—even Oghren—to attempt to talk to him about Nida. Morrigan wisely forbore to tell him he was better off without her. Sigrun rode beside him and talked industriously of pleasanter things.

Outside the ranks odors of the city, the air smelled of spring.

"Away from Denerim at last," Maude murmured, stretching luxuriously in the saddle. "Wait until you see our new tent!"

"Is it ridiculous?" Loghain grunted. "Tell me it's not ridiculous." A horrible thought occurred to him. "It doesn't have _griffons_ on it, does it"

"It's not ridiculous," Maude answered instantly. "And no griffons at all."

"Thank the Maker!" he muttered.

"It's green, with a purple dragon," she continued, "but it's not the least bit gaudy. The dragon is very tastefully done, I think."

"A purple dragon!" Loghain could already picture it: light filtering from the outside casting an eternal silhouette of a bloody dragon. If he woke up and forgot where he was, he'd probably put his own sword through it. He hoped it wouldn't be raining at the time. "Did it absolutely have to be purple?"

"Dragons _are _purple," she pointed out. "We can't pretend they're not, just because that's an expensive dye. You're the Dragonslayer, so your tent has a dragon on it."

"Is it a dead dragon, or a live dragon?" asked Anders. "It should be dead, you know. A dead purple dragon with a big sword through it and lots of embroidered scarlet blood in flourishes!"

"You have such wonderful ideas, Anders," Maude said, considering this seriously. "We could definitely have a tapestry done just like that. Thank you so much!"

_"Thank you so much!"_ Loghain parroted, with a bitter sneer at Anders.

Both the mages chuckled, their day thoroughly made. Sigrun, a little behind them on a shaggy pony, said, "What? I think it sounds pretty!"

Aside from the grandiose tent and the occasional wagon breaking an axle, it was a very pleasant journey. They camped north of the Wending Wood among flowering trees; they camped west of Vigil's Keep under a starlit sky; they camped in the Knotwood Hills, sheltered by rocky slopes.

"You know what's really nice?" Maude said, settling back into their comfortably big camp bed. The shadow of the dragon loomed and flickered over their heads, backlit by the light of a score of campfires. "I haven't had to kill anybody during this entire journey! No bandits…no darkspawn… nobody. It's very…refreshing." Loghain could hear the smile in her voice. She added, "...and with the dawn, I shall seize the treasure of Kal'Hirol. That's going to be such fun! Tell Mistress Woolsey that I'm scouting, and have someone distract her when we come back with the wagon. I don't want it added to that infernal tally of hers! Maybe I should put the loot in ale kegs…"

She rolled over and reached out to him, clever hands busy. Thinking of treasure had an interesting effect on Maude...

* * *

The treasury was duly plundered. Loghain sent Darrow and Kain to help Maude, as part of their training in Warden stealth, and to accustom them to the sights and smells of the Deep Roads. Sigrun and Oghren accompanied them. Everyone agreed that it was a great success, but very odd.

"I didn't see any darkspawn!" Maude said, astonished. " I know that Kal'Hirol is really close to the surface, but I sensed almost _nothing!_ Maybe the darkspawn have gone much further down. I felt them a little more in the direction of the…well, _you _know...the old breeding grounds…but we weren't there to fight today. At least Darrow and Kain should be able to find their darkspawn blood when the time comes. They liked finding the loot, anyway. And we got that big tub of lyrium. It went to Kain's head a bit! And now we have enough gold to absolutely bathe in, which would be a remarkable sensation."

Loghain snorted, "Particularly if you mean _molten_ gold. You're welcome to it."

"Very funny."

So they moved up the Coast Road and rode through tiny Knotwood, which found them even more alarming than before. Nonetheless, the village was part of the Warden's demesne, and Loghain and Maude dismounted and introduced themselves to a few of the cowering locals. Loghain knew he would have to make an effort here. These people were unused to strangers of any kind.

They camped next near the opening of tunnels to Soldier's Peak. Much as they would like to press on, it was just too late in the day to get the wagons up the slopes. Maude had an alternative idea.

"You and I should ride north to Breaker's Cove," Maude suggested. "It's not far. I want to see what kind of harbor they have."

It was not a bad idea. Loghain and Maude chose fresher horses, and Morrigan and Anders flew alongside. Within an hour, the Waking Sea was before them, dark blue and glittering. A fresh salt-breeze blew off the water. Maude spurred forward eagerly. From the bluffs, they could look down, and there below them was a little fishing village. Loghain studied the cove with interest. An arc of sandy beach gave way to the harbor proper: a confusion of boat houses and little piers, docks, and jetties. The only sailing crafts there were small: very likely the harbor was not deep enough for the kind of ship that Maude would want to take her to Kirkwall. She would have to embark either from Highever or Amaranthine. Knowing her, it was not hard to guess which city she would choose. Still, an established fishing village in their territory meant a reliable food source. That could only be good.

"I love boats!" Maude enthused as they took the winding trail down to the village. "Look at that one with the red sails! It's so pretty. I think I'd like a boat of my own, Loghain..."

Breaker's Cove was nowhere near as isolated as Knotwood, but visitors were uncommon. They rode up to the tavern, and Maude leaned out of her saddle to make out its dim and faded sign, and then began laughing.

"_'The War Dog Inn?'_" Ranger and Topaz made puzzled, interested noises. Loghain felt his own smile burst forth, irresistible.

Morrigan fluttered down and perched on the sign. Anders resumed human form.

"Well...this must be the mabari tavern," he remarked to Ranger and Topaz. "Do you suppose they'll serve humans, too?" The dogs cocked their heads, thinking it over.

"Oh come _on,"_ Loghain growled.

It was not a bad tavern, and the ale smelled all right. The locals stared at them, wide-eyed, but did not seem inclined to flee to the hills. Loghain briefly introduced himself, and after the initial shocked incredulity, drinks were on the house. And stew. And dried-apple dumplings. They were very good.

Maude smiled very attractively at the innkeeper."The War Dog?' What an interesting name. So…_Ferelden_…" she cooed.

"Well," the innkeeper confided. "It's said that the old name was the _'Wardens'_ Inn.' It was changed though, after that lot came to a bad end." He reddened. "I mean...er..."

"Quite all right," Maude soothed him. "We're not _that_ lot, after all. Might I have another dumpling?"

* * *

The camp fairly crackled with excitement the next morning. Now accustomed to the routine, the caravan was quickly put in order and in motion, headed for the last push to Soldier's Peak.

Loghain studied the tunnel entrance with some interest. As the encroaching trees and bushes were not yet fully leafed out, it was easier to make out details he had missed before. There had once been some sort of signage here, but the carved stone was defaced and crumbling. Probably a griffon at the top, he supposed, shrugging. It also appeared that there had been a guard post by the entrance, long ago. It had been of wood, of course, and was so decayed that only the brick foundations were in evidence. Another structure would be built here, he decided: a full-sized stone guardhouse to control traffic in and out of the Peak. It was simply too good an idea not to make use of it.

"Dark, innit?" Kain remarked to Darrow, during the long, long walk through the underground maze.

"Reckon the Wardens got some Deep Roads of their own," Darrow said.

Maude laughed. "That's one way of putting it!" She was absolutely elated to be going to Soldier's Peak at last: all but lighting up the tunnel without the aid of a torch. She gave her little map a glance, and motioned everyone to follow her.

Their ascent to Soldier's Peak was fairly strenuous. It was the heavily-laden wagons, of course, that made the difference. Everyone in the wagons got out of them. Everyone on horseback dismounted, and some helped push the wagons along.

"You're going to love it!" Maude assured the Wardens. "We're going to have such fun here!"

They rounded the corner from the upper mouth of the tunnels into the welcome light of day. Gradually the fortress revealed itself. There was some little confusion and delay as everyone had to stop and stare. "It's…big," Anders agreed. _"Really_ big."

Morrigan touched Anders' arm and pointed discreetly. "That tower," she murmured, "is ours."

"A tower? Again?" He frowned briefly, and then grinned. "_Just_ ours?"

She smirked, very pleased with herself. "Ours alone. No Templars, no priests: no one to shake a finger at us. Come."

A hawk and a raven rose up, wings beating, and disappeared through the broken windows of the Mage's Tower. Keenan clicked his tongue in annoyance, and gathered up the reins of their horses with his own.

Voices echoed off the stones behind them, a rising tide of wonder.

"It's as big as the King's Palace in Denerim!"

"Bigger, I reckon. A man can breathe up here."

"I don't know," quavered Sigrun. "We're getting really close to the sky, aren't we?"

Oghren grunted. "I'd say that we're _in _the sky, girlie!"

Even the Wardens from Weisshaupt nodded in measured approval.

"Wardens build for the ages," Wolfram declared. "Whether in civilized nations or in this distant southern land."

"A very fine fortress," Telamon remarked to Valentine. "It has certainly withstood the test of time."

"On the outside," Valentine agreed. "Maude says there's a lot of work to be done on the interior. I can help her there. My uncle, Lord Oxbridge, has been involved in a lot of building projects in the Marches."

Mistress Woolsey looked about her, shrewd eyes noting every missing shingle and broken window. She took out some parchment, and began making notes and calculations.

Darrow and Kain raced just ahead, shouldering the massive doors open, letting Loghain and Maude pass into the lofty stillness of the entry hall. The dogs trotted beside their friends, sniffing the air judiciously.

Dust motes glittered in the slanting light. The rush of fresh air stirred them into a sparkling storm. Threadbare banners fluttered uncertainly, as if astonished at the disturbance.

"That's right!" Maude shouted at the listening shadows. "The Wardens are back!" She nudged Loghain, and whispered. "I hope the ghosts are gone for good. because once we get to work, they'll never recognize the place!"

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: sizuka2, JackOfBladesX, mutive, cloud1004, Josie Lange, Granoc, Zute, Dante Alighieri1308, Sarah1281, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Shakespira, Juliafied, Judy, Aoi24, Phygmalion, Lehni, Kira Kyuu, guantanamobayxx, Anguvddel, Enaid Aderyn, mille libri, Jyggilag, Jenna53, MsBarrows, Tyanilth, Eva Galan, and Herbedragons66._


	32. Inconvenient Truth and Pleasant Fiction

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 32: Inconvenient Truths and Pleasant Fictions**

When Loghain had first arrived in Gwaren, a newly-made teyrn, there had been much to do. The ancient Voric family, who had long held the teyrnir, had been annihilated by the Orlesians; and the old Keep had been used for years as the base from which the usurpers had maintained their tyranny in the south of Ferelden.

That said, they had taken fairly good care of the place, since they were living there. The cellars had been stocked with excellent wine, the barracks had been adequately furnished, and his own apartments were startlingly lavish. The Orlesian jack-in-office he replaced had lived very well indeed.

Soldier's Peak was quite a different matter. No one had lived there at all—other than an ancient blood-mage in the south tower—for hundreds of years. Even when it was occupied, Loghain gathered that it had very much been an unadorned place for warriors.

Maude was busily changing all that. The weather was decent enough for them to live in tents for some time, while serious cleaning was underway. A temporary headquarters was set up in one of the old outbuildings whose roof was quickly made sound.

A few more bones were found and disposed of decently, and now a hellish pandemonium arose: carpenters and masons and glaziers and plasters: all working under the direction of the master builder, and, of course, of Maude. No campaign could have been planned more meticulously.

Loghain had written to his—no, really Maude's—seneschal in Gwaren, and a shipment of lumber would come sailing north fairly soon. It would still need to be carted overland from Amaranthine, but the Coast Road was not in hopeless condition. Building stone there was in plenty, chiseled from the Coast Mountains themselves.

The outside of the castle would remain largely as it was, but for the mended windows. The interior was another matter. From the ground up, Soldier's Peak was changing. Maude began first in the high beamed entry hall, with fresh plaster and a new stone floor; with new silken banners in bold colors fluttering on high. THe banners of Ferelden, of the Grey Wardens, of Highever and Gwaren: these new hangings banished the ghosts of the past, and declared that this was a place for the living once more.

Like a fantastic stone forest, carved pillars rose to support new ceilings in the Great Hall; while beneath their canopy the amazing marble floor spread from wall to wall, polished and shining, a vast chessboard.

Wooden paneling overlaid the crude plastered walls in the library, and new walls were built to make the place accessible only by a door that could lock and keep the Wardens' secrets from visitors. The old barracks became a sparring room, complete with seating in the gallery. A startled Andraste was brought down from the old chapel, and set against the wall by the splendid new stone staircase that led upstairs.

Quoth Maude: "Andraste doesn't need a War Room."

Kitchen and pantries, stillrooms and storerooms, all were cleaned, refurbished, and properly stocked. The contagion of renovation traveled up the stairs to the next floor, and the next, and bedchambers came into existence—rather nice ones, too. Maude saw no reason that Wardens could not have private rooms, especially as small in number as they currently were. In time, that issue could be revisited.

* * *

Not all their time was engrossed in building. There was an official Warden expedition to Kal'Hirol, which included their recruits and the visiting Wardens. The darkspawn had been driven deeper into the thaig, but they were not entirely gone. Darrow and Kain were bracingly matter-of-fact about facing darkspawn, since they had faced the creatures many times before. They killed them with brisk efficiency, collected their vials of darkspawn blood, and to no one's surprise, survived their Joining with considerable aplomb.

"Filthy stuff, innit?" remarked Kain. "Do we drink it all the time, like, or just the once?"

"Just the once," Maude assured him solemnly.

"Good job, too!" said Darrow in relief. "This stuff's almost as bad as the homebrew in Maric's Shield!"

All the northern Wardens were very curious about Broodmothers. Not one of them had ever seen the creatures. The Marcher Wardens, in fact, did not know about them at all.

"More Warden secrecy in action," Maude scoffed. "Really, how can you fight something you understand so little?"

For that reason, however horrible it felt, they took everyone deep into Kal'Hirol, past the Market District, past the mine works, down the long and twisting tunnel that led to the Broodmother pit. Even though fire had burnt away much of everything that would stink, the shriveled, twisted forms bore witness to the horror. It was a grim, sober party that returned to the surface.

"Why are female Wardens sent to the Deep Roads for their calling?" Telamon asked Wolfram, very pointedly. "It is…monstrous!"

"It is tradition," the Weisshaupt Warden answered guardedly. "There are not many female Wardens to begin with, and it is felt that since they are not fertile, they are no danger as far as producing darkspawn are concerned."

Maude stopped dead, and hissed like a dragon. Loghain forgot his own indignation, and glanced at her in alarm. She looked rather like a dragon too: swelling with menace, eyes blazing.

"Ssssssooooo." The sibilants lingered, echoing against cold stone. "As long as no darkspawn are produced, the First Warden is not troubled that women will still be subjected to unspeakable violation. I daresay that since he's in no danger of hurlocks lining up to bugger him, it's no great matter."

Wolfram flushed, sputtering. Usually taciturn, Ragnar spoke up.

"I do not think the First Warden has considered the matter at all. There are few female Grey Wardens. It is not encouraged in the Anderfels. It is a matter of lore to him, not of reality."

"You mean," Sigrun said, her usually pleasant voice shrill, "that since nobody he knows has been carried off to a nest, he doesn't care. He should try it!" she burst out. "If Maude and Loghain hadn't found me when the hurlocks were dragging me along by my ankles, it would be me lying there like a sack of used-up coal."

"Surely," Pyrrhus said, looking anxious, "you would not wish to become a ghoul in the sight of your comrades."

"Certainly not," Morrigan said coldly. "Preventing such an unseemly display does not require going to the Deep Roads at all. Tradition is all very well, but it cannot be permitted to pervert all reason and sense."

Anders and Morrigan had attempted to keep a low profile during the Weisshaupt visit. The Wardens certainly were accustomed to mages serving in the order, but Morrigan saw no reason at all for them to know the full extent of her powers. Very carefully, they did not shape-change in the presence of the visitors, nor did they invite them into the Mage's Tower. In fact, while Maude moved back and forth freely, and Loghain could not be kept from going where he pleased, the mages were rather territorial about their space. Maude liked what Morrigan had done, though she thought it too plain for her own taste.

Much of the Mage's Tower was in fairly good condition, other than all the windows needing reglazing. At Anders' demand, the old cages where Avernus had once kept his "experimental subjects" were sent to the scrap metal pile, and the holes in the laboratory floor filled with new stone. In addtion to their very pleasant bedchamber, the mages had set up a cozy study, combining Avernus' collection with what they had looted or purchased. Morrigan also had Flemeth's old books and grimoires from her days in the Wilds.

"It's nothing like the library at the Circle, of course," Anders mourned, "but that's not to be expected. Sometime, when we're on a recruiting drive, Maude can distract the First Enchanter, and I'll swipe what we need."

"Good idea!" Maude praised him. "Make a list. We'll want to plan according to how heavy the books are."

"You could simply order the books from Tevinter," Loghain pointed out. "We have a great deal of money, and some could be budgeted for the library."

"_Buy_ books?' Maude said, surprised. "Where's the fun in that?"

The mages were reading through Avernus' notes, working on reconstructing the improved Warden's formula. Anders had never known Avernus, and fiercely disapproved of blood magic, and so was not entirely comfortable with delving into the places where the old mage's studies had led. Morrigan, however, revered his memory as the only mage who had ever treated her as she thought an older mage should treat a younger.

"I learned a great deal from Avernus," she would always say. "He was many things, but he was not a liar, like Flemeth; or a hypocrite, like Wynne. He did not withhold information to manipulate me or control me. He did not glory in his own superiority or insult me with false sympathy about my upbringing. He treated me at all times with respect. He wanted me to learn, and he gave his knowledge freely. His work shall not fall into oblivion while I live."

* * *

And there was the expedition to the Dragonbone Wastes. If they were going to collect the dragonbone—at least the easily accessible dragonbone lying out on the surface—they could not wait much longer. With peace, the people of Amaranthine were traveling about. Refugees from the south were looking for vacant land. Maude disliked showing the other Wardens the area, and forced them to swear never to reveal the existence of this place other than to fellow Wardens.

"It wouldn't be safe!" she told them earnestly, her voice throbbing with persuasion. "This must be known only to Grey Wardens! There are still darkspawn stragglers, and if word got out that dragonbone had been found here, people would travel here and then be killed, and we would be plagued by complaints from the Crown and the nobles. It's better for us to clean out the entire area first."

Their heads bobbed in agreement like so many puppets. Loghain looked away, rather repelled by the sight. They reminded him, too, of that ghastly ogre figurine Maude had given Alistair, its head bobbing, bobbing, bobbing…

Still, it was not unreasonable for the Wardens to wish to see the remains of the Architect, if only to be certain that he was dead. Telamon had parchment and charcoal, and drew pictures of the decaying corpses. The grotesque, attenuated figure of the Architect claimed most of his attention.

The other Wardens knew nothing about the dead elves, but could tell Loghain much of the history of Warden Utha. Loghain searched his memory in vain for the dwarf woman. She must have been there, when Maric had first received the Wardens. Loghain had been there himself, but had taken little notice of anyone other than their leader. Commander Genevieve was Orlesian, but an estimable warrior. She, too, had defied the Architect, and paid for her courage with her life. Among the crowd of foreigners he remembered Duncan, of course, from having him about and resenting him heartily for twenty years.

Who else had been there, in that pack of Orlesians? Maric had dithered a bit about a young woman elf mage—though not too much, since Loghain supposed Maric had seen his expression. Maric and elf women were a combination Loghain really, really did not want ever to hear anything about ever again.

And then the visitors wanted to see the remains of the Mother—a place where Maude absolutely refused to go. There was not much to see, actually. The mages' spells had scorched the cavern black, and reduced the remains to bits of charred bone. The Warden poked through, and found a rockfall that blocked a tunnel to the Deep Roads. Wolfram suggested having dwarves build barrier doors at the spot.

"He would!" Maude remarked contemptuously, when their guest was out of earshot. "There is absolutely no reason whatever for the Wardens to pay for it. We can let Delilah know about it, and if she wants to grant Drake's Fall to someone, the new bann can bloody well pay for protection, unless they particularly like the idea of darkspawn in the dungeons!" She shot the Weisshaupt Wardens another veiled look of dislike. "Anyway, we got the dragonbone, as nasty as the circumstances were."

That was indeed true. Three wagonloads of dragonbone creaked triumphantly back to Soldier's Peak.

Maude's spirits were a little depressed by bad memories, but she granted Loghain a wry smile, glancing back discreetly at their companions.

"This will be worth thousands in any port along the Waking Sea. Absolute _thousands_…" Her smile smoothed out to genuine pleasure, thinking of it. "I don't even mind if Mistress Woolsey tallies it down to the last knucklebone!"

* * *

Days passed, the visitors' impudent curiosity was satisfied, and those who were departing prepared to depart, down the Coast Road to take ship in Amaranthine. Loghain forced himself to be polite, but he was really much more interested in the situation of Topaz, who was due to deliver her puppies quite soon. She was getting very round now, settling in for the event. It might have been Loghain's imagination, but it seemed that Ranger was positively swaggering. Not that swaggering was difficult for any mabari, of course.

Loghain particularly wanted the visitors to leave lest they linger long enough to imprint on a puppy. Godfrey was not a bad sort, but mabaris belonged in Ferelden.

Who knew which of the Wardens might appeal to a puppy? Kain and Darrow were knowledgable about mabaris; but Telamon, now hard at work restoring the damaged library, was a pleasant, even-tempered fellow; and Valentine was not unlike a puppy himself. Secretly, Loghain held some hopes for Keenan. It would be a comfort and joy after the pain his bitch of a wife had inflicted on him. Loghain had no idea if a mage or a dwarf could actually imprint on a mabari at all. It would be very interesting to see. He just wanted the visitors gone before the litter made its appearance.

Luckily, the sailing weather was so good that they decided to make use of it. The night before they left, Wolfram gave Loghain a sealed letter.

"I was asked to give this to the Warden-Commander, but only the night before my departure. You may send a reply by me."

"Very well," Loghain shrugged. The Anderman nodded and left to pack. Maude saw the man leave, and pounced, wanting to know what was going on.

"What is that?" she asked, trying to pry the letter from Loghain's fingers. "Is it a secret?"

"Yes. Let go."

"Then let me read it over your shoulder so I don't have to go to the trouble of stealing it."

He smirked as she pleasantly draped herself over him. After the first few sentences, they were gaping in unison.

"_An Orlesian Grey Warden elf mage?"_ she burst out, horrified and delighted. "Maker's flaming breath! If you'd known about Alistair's real mother at the Landsmeet, you'd have trampled us flat!"

"Quiet!" he snapped, reading the missive from Warden Fiona with mounting fury and dread. Yes, the elf who had traveled on the fateful journey to the Deep Roads with Maric was claiming to be the mother of the King of Ferelden. Pieces fell into place. Loghain read the letter in its entirety, ignoring Maude, and then read it again, feeling winded.

But only for a moment. He handed it to her, letting her take it all in, and then said, "Obviously this can never be revealed to anyone else, let alone Chantry Boy, who would probably want her to live in the Palace!"

Maude was amused and indignant for another reason. "To think I went to all that trouble for that wretched woman Goldanna, when she's no relation to Alistair at all! I was even going to ask Fergus to take the eldest boy as a squire!"

"Do so," Loghain said instantly. "You must. It's an excellent cover for the…inconvenient...truth."

Yes, had this letter been in his hands the day Eamon had confronted him at the Landsmeet, there would have been no way that Alistair could possibly have been considered for the throne. Such a claim would have been laughed out of the chamber, and they would all be laughing at Eamon yet, if any of them had managed to survive the darkspawn. It was not possible not to have very, very conflicting feelings.

However, this half-elf was now his king, his son-in-law, and the father of Loghain's grandchild, the long-desired heir to the throne. This information must never, never become public. And there was something else…

"A mage!" Loghain groaned, clutching his head. "What if the child has magic? Sometimes these things skip a generation."

"I would rely," Maude scoffed, "on the indomitably prosaic nature of Mac Tir blood. Alistair did not inherit his mother's magic, any more than he did her elven ears. If he didn't inherit it, it's most probably that he will not pass it on. Look, this woman wants a reply—"

"The bloody letter should be burned to bloody ashes!" Loghain snarled.

"No, no, no!" Maude soothed. "No, no...that won't do at all, my dearest. If we don't reply, she'll just keep writing, and then someday a letter might indeed fall into the wrong hands. I shall write to her in my most persuasive style, and explain why she must never, never, ever come to Ferelden, why she must write no more letters, and why the king cannot possibly acknowledge her. Truth to tell, I think she has her bloody nerve, ignoring him all these years, and then trying to contact him once he's King. Is she deliberately trying to ruin things for him? I shall say something along those lines, in fact, though with softer words and tender regret."

Another horrible possibility presented itself to Loghain. "Do the Orlesians know?" he wondered aloud. "I'll bet my right hand the First Warden does. Did he allow her to send this letter to warn us that he has leverage over us? That if we don't submit sufficiently, he'll tattle to the world the origins of the King of Ferelden?"

"I don't think the Orlesians know," Maude said, thinking it over. "If they did, we'd have heard about it by now. They would have used it to destabilize the country right after the Blight. And I can't believe they would know it and not use it. The First Warden…well…don't expect me to leap eagerly to his defense. It could be indeed that Fiona has never before been allowed to write. The First Warden wants us to know that he knows. Bastard. As long as it's useful to have a Warden King here in Ferelden, I don't expect him to make trouble. He'll use it, though, as a safe conduct for his busybodies like Wolfram and Ragnar. The sooner we see the back of them, the better I'll be pleased."

Maude sat down instantly, composed the answer, showed it to Loghain, and they were both quite satisfied with it. Prudently, she had not used Alistair's name or explicitly spoken of the nature of the relationship.

_To the Senior Grey Warden Fiona of Weisshaupt—_

_Greetings, sister:_

_Knowing my dear friend as I do, I am sure it will be a joy to him to learn of your existence and your sentiments. I plan to take the letter with me on my next trip to Denerim, and share it with him. _

_He is the finest of fellows. Brave, skilled at arms, tall, handsome, and vigorous: yes, he is all of those. He is also kind-hearted, generous, and compassionate. Those who are fortunate enough to call him friend cherish his regard._

_Best of all, he is now a happy man. With his beautiful wife and his expected child, you could hardly find someone more content with his lot in all the kingdom. With time, his situation should be more secure. However, I would be lying if I did not say that even he has enemies. These enemies would be delighted to seize on any compromising information that could harm him._

_Your situation must indeed have been difficult and painful, and I am certain that he will understand your reasoning completely. Considering the delicacy of his situation, I personally, as his closest friend, implore you not to attempt another letter, which could so easily go astray, and then be used against him. It will be enough to know that you are in the world and have thought of him._

_Your sister,_

_Senior Warden Maude_

Loghain presented the letter to Wolfram the next day, and saw the visitors off with a great deal of satisfaction. Maude herself was perfectly charming, but said nothing whatever about them returning.

Maude cocked her head, looking at the Wardens growing smaller in the distance.

"I suppose I wouldn't mind it Godfrey came back, but the rest of them can go hang, for all I care," she murmured. She turned and smiled brilliantly at Valentine. He was slouching on the other side of the gate, looking a bit depressed.

"Come on, Valentine!" she called. "I need you to help me with the color scheme in the guest apartments. We must uphold Warden honor when the King and Queen come to visit!"

The handsome young Marcher gave her answering smile, white teeth flashing. Then his smile turned to Loghain, as he strode over to join them. It became more rueful, more abashed. Was that a _blush?_

"I was thinking about that," Valentine said to Maude. "Gold is good, of course, but it's not anything one could call _restful_…"

The two of them then went back and forth to a tortuous degree about the infinite gradations of the color blue: and if a blue-green might be better; and if so, if it should be more blue or more green. Loghain escaped the horror of it all, thinking that he had better talk to Maude about Valentine's improperly flirtatious behavior.

He talked to her about it in bed. Though living in a tent caused them to be quieter than they liked, they were still happily diligent about their projected procreation, taking their potions; performing their various duties in various positions. Loghain's breath was slowing a bit, the sweat on his skin cooling, when he broached the subject of Valentine.

He did not expect that it would make her laugh.

"My darling!" She absolutely giggled, and turned on her side, fingers playing with the hair of his chest and belly. "Valentine is a very nice sort of friend for me. Like Leliana. He likes beautiful things and has wonderful taste. We have a great deal in common."

Was she really so naive? "Maude—"

"And one of the most important things we have in common is a tremendous admiration for _you."_

He frowned up at the silhouette of the purple dragon. "What do you mean?"

"You _know _what I mean… Valentine isn't attracted to me in the way you think at all. His heart-felt devotion is all for another. Perhaps I should be talking to _you_ about _your_ behavior, you big tease."

He snorted, taken aback and rather annoyed. Of course, it was not the first time some young soldier—man or woman—had taken their admiration for a famous warrior too far. He had thought that at this point of his life he would be free of that sort of foolishness.

Apparently not.

"He does understand, I presume, that his 'admiration' must be forever unrequited."

She found that very amusing.

* * *

By the end of Bloomingtide, Loghain was deeply relieved to be moving out of the Tent of the Purple Dragon, and into their quarters, which more or less occupied the same place as Sophia Dryden's, but was hardly recognizable as such. The walls were paneled in silkwood, dark and shining: the grain of the wood extravagantly burled as tiger's eye. The furniture was ornately carved, the velvet drapes richly crimson, the carpets voluptuously deep underfoot. Loghain eyed it from the doorway as he would a darkspawn lair.

"Don't be so suspicious, Loghain!" Maude reproved him, drawing him into the room—her handiwork of many days—and giving him a long kiss. "Anders and Morrigan agree that the Veil here is strong again and absolutely nothing remains of Sophia—or, more to the point—of that loathsome demon who ate her up. This is just a bedchamber. Our bedchamber. You'll like it better once we've had sex here a few times."

"Did you have to make it so…so…" He did not want to say the word 'Orlesian,' but he knew she knew he was thinking it.

"Gorgeous?" She asked, with wide-eyed innocence. "Ravishing? Magnificent? Lavish? It's all those things, of course. Yes, I did. I decided that when we were not actually sleeping on the stones of the Deep Roads, or in some mudhole in the Wilds, we deserved not only decent comfort, but a balancing dose of luxury."

"You're not afraid of making us soft?"

"No. I want us to feel _appreciated_. There's little enough of that going about. This mattress is really wonderful. Now, about your excess of clothing…"

* * *

Early one morning, Topaz had her litter. Everyone would have been much happier had not two of the puppies been stillborn. Topaz licked at them to no avail, and whimpered a little.

"Here, Topaz," Maude consoled her. "You have three lovely puppies. Look at this little black one! He's so sweet."

Loghain said nothing, but sat with Topaz, petting her gently, hand on the silky hair at the top of her head, giving her silent support. Yes, they would have liked more puppies, but any mabari was precious. Whether she would ever litter again was unclear. Anders did not claim to be a mabari expert, of course.

"She's suffered a lot of traumatic and damaging events this year, even aside from ingesting darkspawn blood, which she obviously has. I really can't tell if the effects will be long-lasting or not. It seems that the placenta can protect a fetus from the Taint somewhat, since I don't sense anything about the surviving puppies..."

The puppies, in fact, did very well over the next few days. It helped to see them thriving, for while she was upbeat and reassuring with Topaz, Maude was clearly upset and off-balance about her own prospects.

"It's not like _I_ can hope for three out of five," she said, tense and brittle, nibbling on a thumbnail. "I shall simply have to get it right the first time."

Anders, usually so flippant, could be considerate with a patient.

"Now that I have a better idea what to look for, I can cast all sorts of protective spells to strengthen the placenta," he assured her. "In fact, I wonder if Wynne did that for the Queen..."

No one had heard from Wynne. No one knew anything about the College of Magi. Anora certainly had not heard from the old mage, or she would not be writing increasingly shrill letters to Loghain. Today's letter was very alarming. Petra had not been released from the Circle to tend to the Queen; not because the Knight-Commander had questions about her reliability, but because the Grand Cleric was displeased at the number of mages unaccounted for after the Blight. Some had been killed by the darkspawn, of course. If their bodies were found, their names could be lined through neatly.

However, many had completely disappeared. While some had been captured, there were not enough Templars to track all of them down. In fact, it appeared that during the fighting in Denerim, the phylactery storage facility had been damaged, hindering the search efforts. In short, the Grand Cleric regretted any inconvenience to Her Majesty, but releasing yet another mage from custody was simply not feasible at this time. The Queen was far better off, anyway, not exposing her unborn child to the influence of magic. Needless to say, relations between the Palace and the Chantry were currently very strained.

There was nothing for it. Anders must go, and he must go at once.

But not alone. Given the Chantry's current attitude, Loghain was uneasy about sending Anders off by himself. True, he was a Grey Warden, but past experience suggested that would not protect him if he were confronted by the more zealous sort of Templar.

He made his plans quickly. Maude was wrapped up in her renovations, so while Loghain hated to leave Topaz and the puppies, he decided that he would go to Denerim himself, bringing Anders to take care of Anora. Yes. He would go and see for himself how his daughter was faring. He would go, and he would stay until her child was born. Later in the month, just before Anora was due, Maude could come and join him at the Palace.

He brought it up at dinner, and had immediate volunteers to accompany him.

Darrow and Kain wanted to go wherever Loghain went. Oghren simply wanted to escape the danger of being shown fabric swatches.

"Told her to stick to something that matches the ale," the dwarf declared.

"And the puke," sniped Anders.

Oghren smirked, and bowed in acknowledgement.

Maude nodded, glancing over at Valentine, who was in deep thought. "Maybe a jacquard weave," she mused, "in a nice nut-brown? Don't worry, Oghren, by the time you're back your room will be totally done and utterly magnificent. You'll hardly be able to see where you've thrown up."

As soon as she decided he had had enough dinner, Maude seized Loghain's hand and hurried him upstairs. He let her, of course. Either she had some new criminal plot to share, or she was eager for him.

She was certainly eager. Her kisses were particularly ardent and stirring.

"I shall miss you horribly when you go to Denerim," she murmured into his throat. "Sit down on the edge of the bed. I feel like being very, very nice to you."

The bed was not too high for what she had planned. She had undoubtedly measured it for the purpose. Loghain relaxed, letting Maude's bewitching mouth take possession of him. To slow her down, he buried his fingers in her thick brown hair, guiding her, pushing her away a little at times. Time stretched out, and the firelight flickered in crimson glory. It really was a very...stimulating...room.

Time sped up abruptly, and he was spent and light-headed, falling back onto the welcoming bed with a grunt. Bright-eyed, she slithered up from the floor and curled up beside him. She still had that Look, the Look that warned him she was Up To Something.

"Loghain..."

"Ugghhh..."

He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close until he could get himself into marching order to reciprocate.

_"Loghain..."_ she wriggled on top of him, nuzzling his throat. "Are you still working on the _Garethopedia?"_

"Ugghhh?" He blinked. "Of course. I suppose," he croaked, "that _Rhoswynopedia_ sounds too odd?"

_"Garethopedia,"_ she said firmly. _"Garethopedia. _You know that blue-flashy-glowy thing that Anders does? You know that thing?"

His heart thumped oddly.

"Well," Maude whispered, in a low and thrilling voice, "It _really_ flashed just before dinner. I thought you should know. I didn't want to wait until I join you in Denerim. I wanted you to know this very minute."

_"Eleanoropedia?" _he suggested, still dazed, picturing a squalling infant; a mischievous, adorable toddler; a cheerfully defiant, incorrigibly reckless child...

"No. _Garethopedia. _Definitely. I made Anders check. He doesn't approve of wanting to know ahead of time, but I _made_ him do it."

"Of course you did." He took a deep breath. Maude was very good at getting what she wanted, and she had wanted this very much. "This will change things," he observed, looking up at the red velvet canopy. He had not realized how much he had wanted it himself. Of course, it was only one day, and things could happen...Celia had had three miscarriages before she and Loghain had accepted that there would be only one child... Still, Maude was Maude, and she was indomitable.

"I daresay Anora will find it very inconvenient," she murmured happily. Loghain could feel her smile. "Perhaps we ought not to tell her right away. I want to go to Gwaren and get a good grip on things first."

"Sound thinking." He wanted to give Anora a chance. Once she had her own child and heir in her arms, she was less likely to feel betrayed and furious at the overthrow of her plans for Gwaren.

But for now there was Maude, who must be tended to...

* * *

Five men on horseback made good time—even if one of them was a dwarf and a poor rider. They arrived in Denerim, they were announced, and Anora—now almost too big to walk— greeted them with joy and relief. Alistair was genuinely glad to see Anders, and managed to nod politely in Loghain's general direction. Loghain took his daughter in his arms and was concerned to see tears in her eyes. Of course, pregnant women tended to be emotional, but this was Anora, his own child. He kissed her brow and looked her over, sorry he had not come sooner.

"We've been worried about Wynne," said the king. "Something strange must be going on. And then for the Grand Cleric to be such a hag about—"

"—Don't, Alistair," Anora said instantly. "Not in public."

"But they're _Wardens..."_

"Just don't."

"Oh, all right," he sulked, and muttered for Loghain's benefit, "but she _is_ a hag, the interfering old prune..."

The Queen, Erlina, and Anders disappeared into the Queen's private apartments. Kain and Darrow looked about them in interest.

"Never been in this part of the Palace before. Very nice." Kain remarked.

"Nice," Darrow agreed. "Very posh."

Loghain quickly introduced them. "Your Majesty, these are Wardens Kain and Darrow."

"New Wardens?" Alistair smiled genially. "That's great! Congratulations!"

"Thanks, Your Majesty," they muttered, Kain a half-beat after Darrow.

"Maker!" Darrow whispered to Kain. "The King _is_ a Warden! I can _feel_ it."

"Sshh," Kain reproved him. "Not supposed to talk about feelings in front of royalty."

Alistair only laughed. Loghain pointed at a corner, and his three companions obediently withdrew to discuss the strangeness of their situation.

"How is she, really?" Loghain asked his son-in-law, without preamble.

"Pretty cranky," Alistair said, harassed and blunt. "I'm not complaining, but she's really uncomfortable, and all this trouble about getting a Healer hasn't helped at all. I don't know what the Chantry is trying to pull, denying Anora proper care, but we're not going to forget it anytime soon, I can tell you."

"So Wynne has simply...disappeared?"

"There was trouble at the College of Magi," Alistair said. "Serious trouble. We've written to Nevarra, and the King says it's a Chantry matter. We've written to the Grand Cleric there, and she says the Templars are sorting it all out. So we wrote to the Knight-Commander in Cumberland, and he hasn't written back. We think the Templars broke up the meeting, and they've probably locked up all the mages in the Circle there at Cumberland. Or maybe sent some of them to different Circles. Anora thinks they wouldn't want all that power and experience in one place. We just don't know. My guess is that we're not going to see Wynne anytime soon. Maybe they'll let her send a letter eventually, and we'll find out what became of her. At that point, we can work on getting her back, but considering how the Grand Cleric has been behaving so far, I'm not holding out much hope."

"Well, Anders is here for as long as she needs him. He's a first-class Healer himself."

"Thank the Maker for that. Don't let the Chantry get their hands on him, whatever you do!"

Anders himself appeared very soon, looking cheerful enough to set their minds at rest for the moment.

"She's fine and the baby's fine. I assured her it was perfectly normal to feel as she does and that all women go through it. She might believe it better from another woman, but it's no more than the truth. However," he fixed Alistair with a stern eye. "I've put her on bed rest until the baby comes. I'm serious about that. I know she has duties and responsibilities, but someone else will simply have to step in. She can read letters—if they won't get her too upset—and she can consult, but she shouldn't be holding audiences or receiving petitioners or going out to do squat for anybody else. I want her to stay in bed, and I want her to take the nutrient potions I'm going to brew for her. She's being stubborn about the staying in bed thing, but surely her husband can make her see reason."

Alistair visibly quailed at the idea of trying to make Anora see anything contrary to her own wishes. Then he saw Loghain scowling at him, and he scowled back, stiffening his shoulders.

"Right. Anora. In bed. Seeing reason. Me. Stepping in."

"Eamon is your chancellor," Loghain said. "Surely he can help."

Alistair scowled even more darkly. "Eamon's gone to Redcliffe. Arlessa Isolde's expecting, too. She doesn't want to be in Denerim. She thinks it's unhealthy. Teagan's here, though."

"Well, Teagan will glad to help you, I'm sure. And I will help in any way that keeps my daughter healthy, in bed, and _resting."_

Alistair looked ready to tell him what he could do with his help, but subsided. "All right. I'll summon Teagan, and we can look at the growing pile on my desk. If it involves the University, though, Anora wants to see it."

* * *

They settled in at the Wardens' Compound with little fuss. After dinner, Oghren really wanted to go out to a tavern. Anders did too.

"The Queen's sleeping for now," he told them. "But who knows when I'll have another chance? I may be stuck in the Palace for the rest of the month!" He wheedled, "Just one night at a tavern...a little drinking...hearing the local gossip..."

If Anders was going, Loghain thought he had better go as well. He could not possibly risk losing Anora's Healer to some overzealous Chantry buffoon.

"Just this once," he said. "And we'll go to the Gnawed Noble, where we're less likely to have trouble."

"It's full of stuffy, self-satisfied aristocrats—" Anders grumped.

"—Gnawed Noble, or nothing," Loghain countered.

Anders gave in. "Gnawed Noble."

If Loghain was going, then Darrow and Kain naturally wanted to go, too. It was a well-armed and armored party of five that set out on foot for the Market District.

The twilight was soft, the evening breeze pleasant, and Loghain enjoyed his walk through the city. Crossing the the new—and much improved—East Gate Bridge, they headed up Gate Street. The traces of battle were mostly gone. The greatest changes were in the new buildings that had sprung up on the sites of those destroyed in the fighting and the fire. Refugees were here in plenty, and labor was cheap; so the new houses were finer and more substantial than their predecessors, using more stone and less wood. Many had fire-resistant slate roofs, and Loghain approved of them. Perhaps all new buildings should have slate roofs. He would have to mention it to Anora.

No. To _Alistair._ Anora was not to be worried or bothered. Alistair it was. They would work more on his papers tomorrow. Loghain had studied his son-in-law, looking for tell-tale signs of his elven blood. To his relief, he could detect not the least hint that Alistair was anything other than human. Other than being a Warden, of course. Children of humans and elves always turned out human, he knew, but sometimes there was a delicacy of feature, or unusually large eyes, or a nose too straight and fine, or short stature, or _something_ that hinted of elven blood. Alistair was certainly very handsome, but there was, thankfully, nothing ethereal about him. Loghain hoped fervently that his grandchild would take after its good-looking parents, and not betray anythng of an ancestry that would be unacceptable to—well, to be perfectly honest—every single member of the Landsmeet.

The inside of the Gnawed Noble had not changed at all. It smelled, as always, of good ale, roast mutton, woodsmoke, and expensive perfume. A minstrel was finishing a ballad as they walked in. Loghain was pleased. Music meant less conversation. Nonetheless, a few men he knew were there, and he had to engage them in tiresome small talk. He must make an effort: for Anora, for Maude, and for his embryonic son. _For Gareth._

Foaming pints were set before them, and a tray of snacks: stuffed mushrooms, bread and cheese, little sausages, oatmeal cookies. Despite a substantial dinner not an hour before, Loghain found himself munching along with the rest. They finished their pints, and Oghren called for another round. It really was rather pleasant to be out and about...

The minstrel played another ballad, and then another: a suitable background for food and drink.

"Never drank here before," Kain commented.

"Me either," Darrow said. "Stood guard here a few times, though."

A third round. Then some well-disposed nobles bought them a fourth. Loghain listened to bits of gossip floating past, and was civil to those who insisted on speaking to him or buying the Wardens drinks. He learned that there was still a certain quiet discontent about the Crown's assumption of the Denerim arling, that many people were absolutely baffled about what a University was supposed to be (Loghain could not much enlighten them), that the betting was five to two that the Queen would bear a son, and that Habren Bryland's wedding trousseau was the most spectacular and expensive ever seen in Ferelden. Loghain grimaced at the Orlesian term "trousseau," but was assured no other word sufficed. Further description proved the informant absolutely correct. How the bloody hell was the girl's father paying for all that, with South Reach in the shape it was?

After four rounds, he had no trouble expressing his opinion.

"Poor bastard," he grunted, meaning Teagan Guerrin. And Leonas Bryland. Either one. Both of them. Every man within earshot nodded dolefully.

The minstrel, a scrawny, lanky, tow-haired fellow, was tuning his lute, and getting ready to sing again. He strummed a few chords, and Loghain turned to listen. It was a song he'd always liked. Yes—it was the song his mother had sung, but this time it was...different...

**_.  
_**

**_There was a wild Fereldan girl,_**

**_Maude Cousland was her name._**

**_She was born beside the Waking Sea_**

**_In a castle known to fame._**

**_She robbed the rich, she helped the poor,_**

**_She killed the Wicked Arl._**

**_And dearly loved her parents,_**

**_Did the Wild Fereldan girl._**

**_.  
_**

Loghain felt his jaw drop. This was definitely not the version his mother had sung. _Maude?_ They'd changed the name of the heroine to _Maude?_

.

**_The Wicked Arl he hunted her,_**

**_He hunted up and down._**

**_Swore her fair head would hang on high_**

**_O'er Amaranthine Town._**

**_He called to him his lackeys,_**

**_His blood mages and his churls,_**

**_They all set out to capture her,_**

**_The Wild Fereldan girl._**

**_.  
_**

"Yeah, he had mages with him," Oghren agreed, foam on his moustache. "Rotten sods. Needed killing."

Anders was offended. "I wouldn't have taken you for an anti-magic bigot, Oghren! You think mages should be killed just because they're mages?"

"No," Oghren snorted. "Only if they're rotten sods. And trying to kill me."

"Oh. That's different."

"Sssshhh!" Kain hushed them. "He's getting to the fighting bit now..."

.

**_"Surrender now, Maude Cousland,_**

**_For you see we're five to one,_**

**_Surrender in the Queen's high name._**

**_Your rebel's day is done!"_**

**_Maude Cousland laughed their threats to scorn,_**

**_Her silver sword awhirl._**

**_"I'll fight, but not surrender!"_**

**_Said the Wild Fereldan Girl._**

**_.  
_**

"That does sound pretty much like our Maude," Anders pointed out.

Loghain nodded silently, utterly horrified. If Maude knew they were singing songs about her, her head would swell too large to fit even into the vastness of Soldier's Peak.

.

**_She fought them sword and dagger,_**

**_And she fought them hand to hand._**

**_The churls and mages fell to her,_**

**_And only Howe did stand._**

**_Her sword thrust through his evil heart,_**

**_From his tower he did hurl._**

**_And that is how she had revenge,_**

**_The Wild Fereldan Girl._**

**_.  
_**

Oghren shook his head solemnly_. _"Nope," he said. "She killed him in a dungeon. A dungeon. No hurling involved. I was there."

"Hurling from towers is better," Darrow mused. "More dramatic, like."

"Definitely better," Kain agreed. "'S'hard to hurl somebody to their death from a dungeon."

_.  
_

**_Teyrn Loghain called her to account,_**

**_She boldly told her tale,_**

**_He saw the truth and pardoned her,_**

**_For truth will e'er prevail._**

**_"The darkspawn are a greater threat,_**

**_'Gainst them your flag unfurl." _**

**_And so they allied, Loghain and_**

**_The Wild Ferelden Girl._**

**_.  
_**

Loghain dropped his head in his hands. Oghren slammed down his tankard. "What happened to the duel?_"_ he demanded. "Loghain just _PARDONED_ her? What'd she do? Bat her eyes at him?"

"Didn't she?" asked Anders, smirking.

"I like it," Darrow said to Kain. "If it didn't happen that way, it should have."

"I like it, too," Kain agreed. "Nicer, innit?

_.  
_

**_Grey Wardens both, they fought the fiends,_**

**_To save Ferelden dear._**

**_The Archdemon fell to Loghain's sword—_**

**_.  
_**

"Enough! We're out of here!"

Loghain was on his feet, raging. A song? About how he had stolen the Archdemon from Maude? She was going to kill him.

The Wardens burst out laughing.

"You rhymed!" Anders beamed at him owlishly. "That was great!"

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Kira Kyuu, Menamebephil, JackOfBladesX, Eva Galana, MsBarrows, Judy, Josie Lange, cloud1004, Anima-StarWars-fan-zach, Zute, Phygmalion, Juliafied, Lehni, Sarah1281, Shakespira, Angurvddel, Jenna53, Enaid Aderyn, mutive, Duel Soul, Tyanilth, Jyggilag, Tall Tails-Feline Jaye, and mille libri._

_Thank you, Guile, for your idea about the ending._


	33. Babies and Brides

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 33: Babies and Brides**

Maude breezed into Denerim just as Loghain had decided to kill Alistair and damn the consequences. Had it not been for the mitigating presence of Teagan Guerrin, it would already have been a famous historical event.

It was not that Alistair grieved him by being unlike Maric. The awful truth was that Alistair was _exactly_ like Maric at his most annoying. He was lazy, flippant, excessively talkative, and passive-aggressive. He was as easily distracted as a child. He would refuse to make a necessary decision, insisting on deferring it to an adviser, and then bitterly criticize the adviser afterward. After three weeks, Loghain simply could not understand how Maude—not the most patient woman in the world herself—had not gutted him and left him to rot in the Wilds.

Chantry Boy had some saving virtues, of course. He was unquestionably faithful to Anora, and extremely attentive. He bore with the Queen's unreasonableness and mood swings sometimes to Loghain's admiration.

"Is it_ impossible_ for him to be serious?" Loghain asked Maude, as she brushed her hair before bed.

"Loghain!" she laughed at him. "You ask me as if I were his mother, and must know. I'm only his stepmother-in-law. Alistair is a mess from his upbringing. You _know_ that. He's never going to get over it completely, any more than anyone else does. Yes, it's terribly annoying when he second-guesses you after forcing you to make a decision that he won't. You have to accept—as I do—that he's always going to be like that. He might have forgiven me, but I haven't forgiven him. He was perfectly awful to me when I didn't kill you. It's something I'll always have in the back of my mind. He's King, and he's imperfect, and that's that. He has, however, successfully fathered the impending heir. Hail, Alistair. And he's done a bit of work, hasn't he?"

"A _bit,"_ Loghain growled, grudging Chantry Boy even that.

"Anyway," she got up and rummaged through a chest. "Look at what I got for a naming-day gift for our new princess. Dworkin made it for me."

Loghain backed away slightly. "Is it explosive?"

"Of course not! Look! The baby's going to love it!"

Loghain peered at the creepily loveable little object.

"Is that a golem?"

"A golem _doll._ It's not a real golem. No living thing was doused with molten lyrium in the making of it. It's a mechanism and the outside is ivory and leather, so the baby can chew on it all she likes. Alistair told me he had a golem doll when he was little. It should stir fond memories. And we're also giving her a very expensive gold locket with portraits of the King and Queen inside. Telamon painted them for me."

"He's hardly seen them."

"Doesn't matter. Two pretty golden-haired people. Close enough for a child. It's a very nice locket."

She was well, she assured him: wonderfully well. Her pregnancy was not troubling her at all. She would steal Anders for a moment, and make it official. Bubbling up from her was the news of the Wardens.

Morrigan had not come to court. She was settling in to her domain at Soldier's Peak, and did not seem inclined to pander to the King and Queen.

"Morrigan doesn't like Alistair, and she's annoyed at him for stealing Anders. It's just as well. The Mages' Tower is looking very well. So is the rest of the Peak, for that matter."

Keenan, Telamon, and Sigrun had remained at the peak, tool. Valentine had traveled with Maude, and they had had a merry time of it, from her account.

"I've got an absolute killer of a gown for the godmotherly naming thing, and another for the ritual sacrifice of Teagan. How is he holding up, by the way?"

"Putting the best possible face on it. Not a word of complaint. He's a brave man."

"That's very well-bred of him," Maude approved. "I suspect Cousin Leonas is looking forward to the day Habren leaves his household. What do you want to bet he gets married?"

"I'm not taking any bets from you."

"You are my clever husband!"

* * *

Loghain's granddaughter was born on the twenty-fifth day of Justinian.

The day was quite nice, actually, for those who were able to get outside and enjoy it. That was not case with anyone of any importance whatever in the city of Denerim. Nearly all of them were gathered at the Palace, where it was seasonably hot and stuffy. Important men talked business in low and measured tones, sweating in brocade doublets. Important women fluttered through the Palace, whispering and occasionally squealing.

The most important women in all Ferelden were crammed into the Queen's bedchamber, where she was entertaining them all by giving birth to the heir. Anora was bringing back an ancient custom, though the custom was not limited to Ferelden. No, it was a human, Thedosian custom to leave no doubt in anyone's mind that the Queen had indeed borne a child.

It was not the most dignified of exhibitions. Anora wore a chemise of the finest linen and over it a loose robe of blue velvet, trimmed in gold embroidery. The robe was sleeveless and did not fasten in front. The fine chemise was pulled up to her hips to facilitate the Healer's duties. Anders had advised her that a birthing stool would work best in these circumstances, but Anora had dismissed the idea as undignified.

The greatest ladies, namely the Teyrna of Highever, The Regent of Gwaren, the Arlessas of Amaranthine, West Hill, and Redcliffe (to list them according to Precedence), and the Grand Cleric of Ferelden were permitted to sit in chairs while fanning themselves, dressed very grandly. Ladies of less exalted status, such as Lady Werberga of South Reach and Lady Dilys of West Hill were permitted stools. The score of ruling female banns or the lady wives of banns chosen as witnesses had to stand. The room reeked of blood and vetiver, of sweat and jasmine, of pain and Andraste's Grace. Many more had wished to witness the birth, and there had a been a lottery to obtain the privilege of standing hour after weary hour, as the Queen muffled her groans, too proud to readily show pain.

Of the ladies of the first and second rank, only Arlessa Angharad and Arlessa Isolde had actually borne children, and they could present themselves as experts in the matter. Both ladies were once again expecting, and disagreed with one another's opinions on childbearing with bitter civility. Those ladies who had never undergone labor were not particularly enjoying either the spectacle or the whispered discussion.

Loghain had not often endured being practically the only man in the room with a mob of over-stimulated females. It was...unnerving. Anders and Alistair were the others, and Anora had relegated Chantry Boy to the left side of her bed and Loghain himself to the right to keep them from killing each other. Anders, in elegant robes, was making the most of his public appearance as the Queen's Healer. The Grand Cleric was visibly unhappy, and had remarked on the impropriety of a man doing the honors, but Loghain was not putting up with Chantry nonsense today. The Queen of Ferelden would receive the best possible care, and the Grand Cleric could lump it.

"He's handsome, isn't he?" remarked Arlessa Angharad loudly.

"Oh, yes," Maude, Regent of Gwaren agreed. "All of them."

This caused the Arlessa of West Hill to burst into a smothered giggle. "I mean Warden Anders, the Queen's Healer. He's quite handsome. If all mages looked like him, people would like them better."

Arlessa Isolde stiffened, and Loghain kept his face a blank. The blush on Arlessa Angharad's face indicated that she had only now remembered that the former heir to the Arling of Redcliffe was an apprentice in the Circle of Magi. Sensibly, she forbore to make an apology, which would only point up Arlessa Isolde's loss, and make her feel worse.

Arlessa Delilah said, "Warden Anders is a very brave man, and did a great deal to defend Vigil's Keep when the darkspawn attacked. It was a fortunate day that he came to Amaranthine. He is a very polite man, too, with gentle manners. I am very glad the Queen has someone so kind and competent to attend her."

"Ha!" Arlessa Angharad interrupted her, "the Healer told her to push! Things are happening!"

The crowd pressed closer as the Queen's pains grew more intense and more frequent. There were sage nods, encouraging words, and some significant glances exchanged. Had more people looked away from the Queen and the fluids emerging from her body, they might have noted that Arlessa Delilah was looking rather sick.

Loghain, glancing up from Anora's struggles, could see Delilah's white face in the crowd, and also saw that Cauthrien had laid her hand on the Arlessa's arm, whispering something inaudible. Delilah looked markedly better thereafter, and had the sense to look away from the worst of it.

More fluids squirted, his child's pride was broken at last, and the last quarter of an hour became rather noisy indeed.

Loghain was only surprised that Anora did not direct some of her pain and anger at her husband. Ever the politician, she said nothing about her suffering in words. It would have been all over Denerim by nightfall had she blamed the King, or swore that she would never go through childbirth again.

Maude pushed a maid aside and wiped the sweat from the Queen's brow herself, using her pretty embroidered handkerchief. Loghain held his daughter's left hand, while Alistair clutched anxiously at her right. They would both bear the red crescent moons of Anora's nails for days after.

A last command, a last pained and frightened shriek, and rising shrill noises, like a flock of starlings, from the assembled ladies. Summoned by the cries, a small bloody object spilled from the Queen's exposed privates.

"It's a girl," Anders murmured swiftly to the exhausted Queen, "and she's perfect, and perfectly fine." He set about clearing the tiny airway, and the crowded room was enchanted at the thin wail that arose. Then Anders' hands glowed blue with healing magic, and he laid them on the Queen. An murmur of admiration and wonder filled the room as the Queen took a deep breath of relief and restored strength. Loghain stole a glance at the Grand Cleric, whose face expressed neither wonder nor admiration. Other than the most devout, however, the spectators found it all very entertaining.

So...Maude's guess about the baby's gender had been proved right, though Loghain wondered if she had cozened or bullied Anders into giving her that piece of information. At any rate, his young wife looked very pleased.

Everyone there assembled were Fereldans, and thus no one was particularly concerned or disappointed that they had a princess rather than a prince. The Teyrna of Highever and the Regent of Gwaren were tasked with wiping the tiny body with warm water and oil, and wrapping it in soft, embroidered linen. Loghain knew that Cauthrien had swaddled a half-dozen newborn brothers and sisters, though in far coarser cloth. She set about swaddling the royal princess with matter-of-fact efficiency, while Maude, who had tended her little nephew in babyhood, cooed at her goddaughter, beaming.

Arlessa Angharad raised her voice to instruct the Healer, "Don't forget to look for every last bit of afterbirth. The Queen should burn it along with a lock of her hair after moonrise tonight as an offering to Our Lady!"

Maude shot Loghain a quick grin. He knew she rather liked the new Arlessa of West Hill, and no less for her calling out instructions for an ancient, pre-Andrastean rite in honor of the Lady of the Skies. The Grand Cleric kept her countenance, just as if Andraste were the Lady to whom the ritual was originally devoted.

Anders finished his work, and soon the Queen's maids closed in to quickly restore her to some semblance of decency, unrumpling her chemise, smoothing her robe, and pulling up the silk coverlet.

Loghain glared at his son-in-law, who was mooning over Anora, instead of doing his duty. It was all very well that he was playing the good husband, but he must not forget to acknowledge the child. Maude made a face at Chantry Boy, and he remembered, gingerly accepting his tiny daughter into his arms.

Maude gestured commandingly to the maidservants at the door. "We'd better let the rest of them in."

The big door was duly opened to the lords of Ferelden: the Teyrn of Highever, The Lord Chancellor the Arl of Redliffe, the Arls of West Hill and South Reach, and the other banns and lords who had been chosen by lot. Most found their ladies in a riot of colored velvet and gossip. Loghain glimpsed Bann Nathaniel, somber in dark blue, as he took his place by his sister. Alistair cleared his throat, and the talk subsided.

"Behold, People of Ferelden, my daughter, lawfully born of my Queen…" He paused, goggling at the baby. Maude waggled her brows at him, and he declared, "I, your King, present to you Her Royal Highness, Princess Rhoswyn of Ferelden!"

There were loud cheers, and a sudden, exciting shoving, as everyone tried to get a peek at the new princess. Alistair laid the baby in Anora's arms, and bent to kiss her gently.

With some glares and some stern, repressive orders, the guests assembled passed by in turn, peering at the tiny pink face, most of them muttering kind words. Loghain leaned over, anxious to see his granddaughter for himself. Maude smirked at him mischievously, and whispered in his ear, "Fear not: her little ears are round as round can be."

Well, that was something. He would not be easy until he had held the child in his arms himself, but what he saw was endearing enough: a silvery cap of fuzzy hair on the tiny head, miniscule pink hands with the proper number of fingers, no birthmarks or defects that he could make out. A curious pang reminded him that it had been a very long time since he had held an infant, and smelled that curious baby-sweetness nestled against his shoulder. He could not experience it again too soon.

Within a few minutes, the prospective wetnurse—a respectable, recently widowed commoner— was admitted to the room, and despite her nervousness, was seated at the foot of the Queen's bed. In short order her plain gown was loosened, her breasts bared—to some murmurs of admiration from the noblemen present—and to everyone's relief, the baby latched on and was consuming her first meal.

Arlessa Angharad whispered her disapproval. "The Queen should feed the child herself, even if only for a few days. I've always nursed my own children, and I'm going to nurse this one, too—" she pointed to her swollen belly—"Arlessa or not."

Loghain overheard, and grimaced. Anders had spoken earnestly to Anora about this, but she had refused, saying that she needed to recover and get back to work as soon as possible. Even her Healer's opinion that she would actually recover faster if she nursed the child had not moved her.

Arlessa Isolde frostily replied, "The Queen has better things to do. The nurse chosen is a respectable widow, and it is an act of charity on the Queen's part to give her employment to feed her children."

"Well, _I_ think it's sad that the poor woman has to pay a nursemaid for her own little one. I heard all about it. The children are living with the grandparents now, and she'll be living in the Palace. It's a hard way to receive charity, in my opinion. Women should nurse their own," she insisted. "Who knows what they'll pick up from a nursemaid?"

Isolde looked about to answer back sharply that her own child had taken no harm from a nursemaid. Her face suddenly crumpled, and Loghain looked away, pitying her in spite of his own dislike. No doubt the wretched women was now wondering if the hired nursemaid had been the one who had poisoned poor Connor with magic! It was ridiculous, of course, since it was now widely known that her family had magic in their blood that manifested every other generation or so.

Lady Werberga was chattering about how disappointed dear Habren was not to be admitted to the birthing room.

"Of course, a young maiden—a bride—it wasn't to be thought of! I'm surprised to see Arlessa Delilah here, but of course, there was no one else from Amaranthine...such a pity, but quite improper all the same..."

Bann Loren was here, but not his young wife. The Bann was complaining bitterly about the slight, to anyone who could be distracted long enough to hear him. Maude smirked. Loghain wondered how fair the lottery had been.

"It's like the old story of the Sleeping Princess," Maude whispered to him. "We have as many people as possible here, but someone is bound to be left out and swear revenge. Anyway, they're all coming to the naming at the Cathedral tomorrow."

Not soon enough, the considerate members of the nobility made their bows and farewells, and the rest of the riff-raff was booted out shortly thereafter. The splendid cradle was ready for its little inhabitant, but Loghain could not bear to leave before he had had one good cuddle, however brief. Alistair glared at him in baffled dismay as the infant was put in her grandfather's lap, and Loghain at last had a chance to make the acquaintance of his little princess.

So. Rhoswyn. A pretty name, if not his own choice. Moira would have been better—reminding the people of her great-grandmother, the intrepid Rebel Queen. Well, this little girl was not his child, and there would be plenty of things he would probably disapprove of in this child's upbringing, so it was no use make trouble from the start. After all, this was the child he had longed for: the child he and Maric had planned. He thought briefly of his old friend, and wondered if the dead knew anything of the living. Maric would be pleased with this little sprout of his ancient line. Would there be anything of Maric in her? Anything he could recognize?

Her little nub of a nose did not look very elven to Loghain: nor did it, thank the Maker, resemble his own rather prominent feature. The big eyes opened, unfocused and blinking. They were a dark blue that might portend any color that eyes could be. They were not excessively large, nor did they have the curious shine of elven eyes. This was, even after the most exacting scrutiny, a human baby. Loghain gave a deep sigh of relief that the child would not suffer for the indiscretions of her elders, and smiled as the tiny hand clutched at one of his fingers. He slipped his hands under her and held her close for a pleasurable time, before the nursemaid started fidgeting, suspecting him of being the sort of incompetent man who was capable of dropping an infant.

Maude wanted her next. "I do love being a doting grandmother," she enthused, peering into the tiny face as if to divine the child's future. Apparently that was indeed partly her purpose, for she said, "Her eyes will be blue. Not dark as sapphires, but a pretty soft blue like blue topazes. Very nice. You're going to be a very pretty person, Rhoswyn Theirin." She held her up and walked to the window. "It's a such a big world out there. Tomorrow we'll start showing it to you."

* * *

Maude and the baby were certainly the focus of all eyes the next day: Maude in her spectacular gown of radiant cerulean blue, and Rhoswyn in her delicately embroidered dress of frothy white linen. Everything went very well. Maude held up the little princess, first before the flame of Andraste, and then before the surging mob in the Cathedral, and called out her name three times before them all. Crowned with her delicate tiara, wearing nearly all the jewelry she owned, she made the most of the moment, and the baby seemed content enough in her arms.

People were always eager to see portents and omens, so it was just as well that the baby did not scream when the Grand Cleric blessed her, or howl when held before the fire, or wail when acclaimed as Princess of Ferelden. She was a very nice baby, indeed. Loghain thought her remarkably pretty and engaging. In the cathedral, he prayed for her earnestly, which was something he did not often do.

—He prayed that Rhoswyn would inherit Anora's full set of wits.

—He prayed that Rhoswyn would _not_ inherit her paternal grandmother's magic or elven looks.

—He prayed that the best of Maric would live on in Rhoswyn, and that the people would love her and follow her loyally.

—He prayed that Rhoswyn would know a peaceful and prosperous Ferelden, and never suffer invasion by dragons, darkspawn, or Orlesians.

—He prayed that Rhoswyn would give Alistair even more trouble than Anora had given her own father. It seemed only fair.

The King and Queen sat on thrones on either side of the chancel. Anora had insisted on attending, and had been carefully helped into the Cathedral and into her seat. Anders, in his nobleman's disguise, was in discreet attendance. Loghain hoped he would not be forced to cast spells obvious enough to further annoy the Chantry. He understood that the Grand Cleric hated the prospect of mage performing a public, benevolent service to the Crown. It made mages look…good: something that the Chantry disliked. Seeing the Queen so well and safely brought through labor by a magical healer made all the ladies of Ferelden want such a healer too. And if the ladies did, so would every other Ferelden woman.

At least on this day, everyone loved their new Princess. Indeed, everyone loved their King and Queen, and hardly begrudged them Denerim.

"After all," one bann whispered to his wife. "They may likely have more children. It might be just like in the Steel Age, when the king's younger daughter married a Kendall, and was given Denerim as her dowry."

There was that, certainly; though Anora, despite Anders' best efforts, still looked exhausted and not at all eager to undergo again the trials of the past nine months anytime soon.

"Maude Cousland looks lovely, doesn't she?" whispered another young noblewoman. "Practically _glowing…"_

Her neighbor whispered back, "She is! You don't think…?"

Some other people started talking, and Loghain lost the thread of that conversation. It hardly mattered, as long as it did not travel to Anora's ears.

* * *

And he need not have worried. Between the birth of the new princess and the wedding of Habren Bryland and Teagan Guerrin, everyone was thoroughly distracted.

The effort expended to be present at Rhoswyn's naming and dedication at the Chantry had rather put Anora back. No one reasonably expected her to be present at the Bryland-Guerrin wedding, and since she had no real desire to go, she rested in bed, with her maid in attendance and Anders on call. She was annoyed that Anders forbade her to work on her correspondence.

"Your Majesty," he said firmly, "If you're not well enough to sit through a wedding, you should not be working. You can do some light reading...in bed. Have one of your maids play some soft music for you. Take a lot of naps and I'll be in with your potions. The more rest you get now, the sooner you're be yourself."

Alistair was thoroughly coached as to what Anora felt she needed to know about the wedding. Then, too, she thought Maude would probably tell her everything important. The King would be sitting in his official place throughout the ceremony, and as the Arl of Redcliffe was standing with his brother, the King would not even have his Chancellor to sit with him.

"You'll be in lonely grandeur," Maude sympathized, as they met in the vaulted entry to take the carriages to the wedding. "It really won't take that long. The Grand Cleric's wedding sermons tend to be brief."

"I'd rather stay with Anora and the baby," he sulked, "but I want to support Teagan, too."

"We all want to support Teagan," Maude assured him. "Anora and the baby will be fine. You don't have to stay long at the feast, either. Just make sure you talk to everybody."

"Right, right, right...Anora told me who have I to pay attention to. She gave me some notes." He pointed up the velvet sleeve of his doublet. "I'll study them in the carriage."

"Not too much," Maude advised. "You have to smile and wave at the people, too."

He groaned in horror, and Loghain, overhearing, growled in irritation.

With Anora's situation, and Chantry Boy needing so much help, he and Maude had barely been able to squeeze the time for a meeting with the southern banns. It had involved opening up his old, rarely used townhouse, since such a meeting could hardly be held appropriately at the Wardens' Compound. With enough coin, it was possible to get the public rooms in order and feed the vassals. Maude needed time to become acquainted with the men and women who had been sworn to him and would be hers in turn. It had gone rather well. Maude was on her best and most charming behavior. Some of the nobles he trusted would accompany her on her journey south. The Brecilian Passage was always rife with banditry, and there would be safety in numbers. Stronar and Geraint would stand by her, certainly.

They voiced a certain discontent that he could not come himself. No one would come out and complain of the King and Queen, but Loghain gathered that there was a feeling that there was some sort of conspiracy involved. Not knowing Maude as well as Loghain, the general opinion was that the Crown was throwing Loghain's young wife to the wolves, expecting her to make a hash of Gwaren and thus weaken Loghain's standing.

Naturally, he was not going to admit that he knew that there _was_ a conspiracy involved, much less tell them what it was and that it was already well on the way to being foiled. Instead, he discussed the importance of his work with the Wardens and the need to strengthen Ferelden by fortifying their great northern castle.

Gwaren had, curiously, been less affected by the darkspawn that most of Ferelden. The creatures, for whatever reason, simply had not penetrated much beyond the edge of the Brecilian Forest. There had been political trouble, of course, and food shortages. The elves had rioted and there had been some bloodshed. He knew only so much from Allonby's letters. Maude would have quite a bit to do. Unlike the men who did not truly know her, Loghain felt confident that she could handle whatever the people of Gwaren threw at her, and more.

* * *

Lady Habren looked as pretty as fine clothes, jewels, and satisfied pride could make her. She paraded down the center aisle of the Cathedral, her pearl-white silk catching the light, preening a little as she passed Maude and Cauthrien.

"She has a new tiara," Loghain pointed out to Maude, with dry humor. "Perhaps you should not have taken the last one. It seems only to have encouraged her."

"How nice of you to call it a tiara." Maude studied the coronet with indignation. "She's practically wearing a gold mine on her head." It was as close to the limits of an offense against majesty as it was possible to be without provoking the wearer's arrest. Not quite a crown, but very, very close. "A bann's wife has absolutely no right to wear such an object. It would in bad taste on an arlessa. One's crown can be prettier than a queen's, but not as big. Habren couldn't possibly grasp that distinction, of course."

Teagan was handsomely dressed himself, but the strain was telling on him: a few lines here and there, proclaiming him close to the wrong side of forty. Loghain thought if the man had any sense at all, his bride's little piece of extravagance should have the jewels pried out and be melted down to useful ingots. And locked away.

Probably not legal, of course. A woman's jewels were her own: especially the jewels she brought with her to her marriage. Her dowry was another matter, and had been paid out to Teagan and Eamon this morning. Loghain had not been present, but some noblemen he knew had been: impartial judges to witness that the pact had been accomplished and the bargain made.

"Teagan's not a weakling, and he's not her besotted father," Maude speculated. "I think Habren will find life with her new husband very, very different. Not unpleasant, mind you, because Teagan is a very decent man, but he will set limits."

The wedding feast at Bryland House was loud and long. There was even enough to eat, and much of it was quite good. After less than an hour, the bride grew tired and fretful, complaining that the tiara was giving her a headache. Teagan leaned in to talk quietly to her. The tiara was removed carefully, though Habren scolded her maid for spoiling her hair, and placed in the chest displaying the bride's gorgeous trousseau.

"I don't blame you!" Alistair remarked cheerfully. "I hate wearing a crown myself. Yours is nearly as big as the queen's, after all."

Alistair's innocent quip ignited smothered panic among the more rational members of the bridal party. Eamon's face had been mottled purple since he had first laid eyes on the grandiose object, but now it paled alarmingly. Isolde's eyes shot the bride angry, sullen darts of dislike and resentment. Teagan smiled tightly, and gave Alistair a resigned shrug.

Maude caught Loghain's eye in a moment of shared amusement, and she smiled blandly. Alistair could not have rebuked Habren's vanity more thoroughly than if he had done it on purpose. Now Bryland was sweating at the propect of having offended royalty. And he should, actually. Anora would not be pleased by the lady's insolence. People were certain to read all sorts of political messages into Habren's assumption of a crown, and those assumptions were not likely to help the Bryland family—or the Guerrins, truth to tell. It was not such a bad party, after all.

There was dancing of course, and some fairly expensive entertainment: minstrels and clowns and acrobats—even a juggler. Loghain narrowed his eyes at them all. A pack of foreigners, and probably some bards in disguise among them. They were mad if they thought he could be taken in by their tricks. Maude, of course, was entranced by such nonsense, especially by the juggler. The man and his pretty elven assistant kept five balls in the air at once, like a fountain. They threw clubs and burning wands at each other without harm. Then the juggler walked along a tightrope while juggling knives.

"Look at that!" Maude said, nudging Loghain. "I want to do that!"

"Not with knives, I hope."

"Why not? Come on! I need to find a private room..."

The poor gleeman was no sooner done with his entertainment, and picking up the thrown coins, than the servants Maude sent after him were hauling him before her, while the little elf trailed behind, very frightened.

"You may go," Maude said grandly, dismissing the servants. "And shut the door behind you." She beamed at the juggler, who trembled. Evidently his experience had told him that whatever made nobles very, very happy was not a good thing for him.

"Your Grace?" he faltered, bowing low. The little elf bowed even lower.

Maude declared, "I want to learn to juggle with my own hands. It looks like so much fun! Can you teach me?"

The juggler glanced at Loghain, looking for signs that this was a horrible joke. Loghain stared back, bored. The juggler flinched.

"Learn to...juggle?" The elf nudged him, her thin face encouraging. The man took a deep breath and said, "Assuredly, only I can teach Your Grace my Ancient and Estimable Art. All other jugglers are quacks and bumblers: I have exposed them repeatedly."

Loghain rolled his eyes. Maude, on the other hand, was delighted.

"Good. You shall teach me. How long will it take?"

"Not very long. Possibly only four years. True Art cannot be hurried."

"I only have four days. You will come for an hour in the morning and the afternoon, and I will be a juggler at the end of it. I shall pay you three sovereigns an hour..."

The elf threw herself on her knees in gratitude. The juggler joined her a heartbeat later.

"Yes," Maude decided. Come tomorrow in the mid-morning. Is there anything I need?"

"Your Grace will need juggling balls..."

"Let me see!" Maude handled the little ivory balls with interest. "No problem. I'll use yours tomorrow, but I can find something similar very quickly. A sovereign for your time, tonight..."

"Maude," Loghain interposed. "A handful of silver would be easier for them to spend."

"Very true."

In the end she gave them all the silver she had on her, and then made puppy-dog eyes at Loghain until he gave them all of his. They went away quite happily, not having to deal with the difficulty that trying to change a piece of gold in a cheap Denerim tavern late at night would have caused them.

"Well!" she said afterwards. "So far this evening has been quite the success. I need to dance with Teagan now and plague Habren and Isolde. It won't take long."

Plaguing those women apparently took no time at all, since Maude's very existence seemed an affront to them. Maude stepped back into the Great Hall and turned on the charm like a dwarven engineer pulling the lever of a war machine. In a dizzying instant, people had turned their way.

It was Alistair, rather than Teagan, who first asked her to dance, but Maude seemed happy enough simply to be dancing. Loghain, leaving her to it, found another cup of wine and a clique of cronies from the south, and devoted himself to politics.

"Your lady wife is much in favor here at Court," remarked Bann Geraint. "Everyone at the Queen's birthing could see how much Her Majesty relies on her."

"The Couslands..." elderly Bann Morwenna ventured, "have certainly done well for themselves. Highever, and now Gwaren. The Teyrn's wife is expecting an heir, it seems. For a family that once seemed extinct, they are remarkably...robust."

"A temporary setback," muttered Bann Stronar. "The Couslands have a talent for survival. Any history book will show as much. Your lady looked very lovely yesterday as she stood godmother to our new Princess."

"The Couslands," Loghain pointed out, "are the King's nearest kin, aside from his bastard half-sister."

There were murmurs of assent and more talk in general about the south. The crops had not done too badly, especially in the easternmost parts of the teyrnir, furthest from the Blight. The demand for lumber was great. Oddly, the fishing fleet had had had a superb year, and was making up quite a bit of the difference in the food supplies.

A few of the nobles went off to dance, and Bann Stronar quietly approached Loghain.

"Seriously, Warden-Commander," the man said. "What are the Couslands up to?"

Maude was finishing her dance with Teagan, her leaf green skirts swirling like summer leaves in a warm wind. Teagan bowed to her gallantly, and laughed at something she said. Habren's face curdled at the sight. Maude would be pleased. Fergus was coming over to Maude now, and they were soon in deep conversation. Cauthrien was talking to Delilah Howe.

Loghain shrugged. "The Couslands? Moving on with their lives. Rebuilding, like so many. I don't see that anyone can accuse Fergus Cousland of undue ambition, when he married a landless knight. Maude was not given the Regency of Gwaren because she is a Cousland, but because she saved Ferelden from the Blight."

"That's very true, but—"

"I'd be more concerned with the Guerrins," Loghain grunted, with a nod at Arl Eamon, the patriarch of the family, who was watching the dancing very complacently. "He pushed hard for Teagan to be regent, and only failed because Teagan refused it. Then we suddenly have a very advantageous and remunerative alliance arranged with the Bryland girl. On top of that, it looks like Eamon is trying for a new heir of his own, and could be planning to cut Teagan out of Redcliffe altogether. Bryland's boys are very young. If something were to happen to him, it's likely that Habren would be the heir, and thus Teagan would be Arl of South Reach, while his brother rules in Redcliffe and is Chancellor of the realm. That's what I think they're aiming for."

"If that happened," Stronar allowed, "the Guerrins would be a power indeed." He lowered his voice even further. "Though my wife wonders if Arlessa Isolde is up to producing the heir that Arl Eamon desires." He glanced up, looking surprised. "That's...interesting..."

Loghain looked. Nathaniel Howe was leading Maude to the line of dancers. Interesting indeed. Perhaps Nathaniel's conviction that Maude was insane had inspired him to dance with her out of what? Pity? Or maybe he was dancing with her simply because she was beautiful, and the best dancer in the room.

* * *

Maude was in high spirits all the way home. "Did you see the look on Cousin Leonas' face when Alistair made that quip about the size of Habren's 'crown?' That was beautiful! Teagan told me they were going to Rainesfere for the rest of the month. Maybe while they're gone that inappropriate headgear of hers might simply disappear."

"Maude..."

"Disappear into thin air," Maude continued dreamily. "...and no one will ever know what became of it. Anyway, it's not like she could wear it ever again. I'll bet those weren't real diamonds anyway. I'll bet they were rock crystals. I really want to know." She smiled happily. "The crown will not even be missed until long after I've left for Gwaren."

"About that..."

He had told Darrow and Kain that they were going with her. They were good soldiers and did not even exhibit disappointment when Loghain gave them their orders. She would have more guards, borrowed from Maric's Shield on the basis of Alistair's signature, obtained when Chantry Boy was simply not paying attention one day as they did paperwork together. Loghain had even briefly mentioned what the order was, so Alistair would not even be angry. Anora would certainly not like it, had she known, but the likelihood of that was not at all great. The King and Queen had made clear that they did not want Loghain going—presumably to avoid him building up a power base there—but they had not explicitly forbidden anyone else. He did not feel he could order any more Wardens with her, but Darrow and Kain were Wardens not because they gave two coppers for the order, but because they wished to serve Loghain. And serve him they would.

He would leave for Soldier's Peak a few days after Maude departed for Gwaren. She was not planning on staying there long, but it would be their first separation since that fateful Landsmeet had thrown them together. It would certainly be a...duller...world without her.

The juggler, still dressed in his ridiculous clown garb, duly made his appearance with his little assistant, and Maude locked herself in to absorb her new hobby.

"Personally," Loghain told her later, "I think you'd do better to work on your shield skills. With the kind of armor you wear now, you should forget the offhand dagger. Keep a knife in your boot...or six or seven if you like, but you should be moving to sword and shield."

"All right, I'll try it," Maude agreed. "As soon as I'm back at Soldier's Peak we can spar, and I can see how it works for me. I know the basics of course, but I started out much more lightly armed. Maybe it's time. It would be nice to have my own shield: one with a big, beautiful griffon all over it."

By the second day she was obsessively practicing her juggling, now with her own set of balls: dark purple, with a curious gleam.

"This is a Three Ball Cascade," she told him. "Look! I can do it already! I'm a real juggler!"

"Maude," Loghain said heavily. "Tell me you did not use the remains of the Archdemon for your juggling balls."

"They were just scraps!" Maude defended herself hotly, eyes fixed on the pattern before her. "Wade couldn't think of anything to do with them anyway!"

* * *

"No," Loghain declared after the pleasurable interlude to their continuing debate, making it clear this was not negotiable, even for Maude. "You are taking the Tent of the Purple Dragon." I'll stay at Vigil's Keep and then at the North Road Inn. I can stay at the Hillman Tavern in Knotwood. You're the one going through the Brecilian Passage, and Maker knows there's nothing there."

Maude laid her hand on his in the dark, edging a little closer. "Well, you know more about Gwaren than I, certainly. It's the one place I never got to in all my travels around Ferelden."

He rubbed his thumb against her palm. "They're an independent lot. They don't like a lot of interference, especially from Denerim. They hate foreigners."

Maujde laughed softly. "No surprise there. They were the last Ferelden fiefdom to be occupied, and the first liberated. You know, I've never heard Anora talk about Gwaren at all."

Loghain frowned up at the darkness. "I don't think she liked it much. She never made any connection with the place—not even as a child. I suppose I should have seen she had companions of the proper status and her own age, but I was not thinking along those lines back then. She followed her mother like a shadow. The town of Gwaren is fairly small, remember: there were children there, but mostly very common commoners: children of charcoal burners and the like. They ran in packs, and Anora found no place for herself among them. Children can be cruel little beasts."

"Yes' she said slowly. "I do remember that you told me that the banns and freeholders tend to live in the country, and their families come rarely to town. So Anora had no friends there?"

"I suppose not," he admitted reluctantly. "She read all the time, and practiced archery and swordsmanship. After her mother died, I couldn't leave her there, so I took her back with me to Denerim. She and Cailan were friends, though: partners in crime. They once fought off tan invasion of ogres in the Palace cellars—or at least that's the story they told about the broken bottles."

Maude curled up closer, her breath warm on his shoulder. "I'm awfully glad she got into mischief at least once! Between that and Alistair telling me about rolling in mud in the stables, there's hope for Rhoswyn…"

They made their farewells repeatedly and urgently over the next few days, often twice in the same night. Maude was still in boundingly good health, though Loghain worried that her pregnancy would catch up with her on the long road to Gwaren. There would be a great deal of camping—hence her need for the luxurious tent. After South Reach, she would leave the Imperial Highway, and have to make do with the much more primitive Southron Road and the the Passage proper.

That was a two day journey in itself; and the place was always infested with bandits. The Dalish, too, traveled through there and could be a hazard for travelers. Presumably, since they had made an alliance with Maude, they would not trouble her. He hoped.

He visualized the map. Laden with baggage and escorting a number of women and children, the trip would be slow. Bann Morwenna's manor. Bann Runcorn's manor. Castle Bryland, Bann Carrick's keep, three nights camping. Bann Stronar's keep. Whitewood Manor—one of the teyrnir's desmesnes. Bann Geraint's manor. Gwaren. It grieved him that he would not be with Maude to show her the places he liked best. Perhaps another year, after the child was born and their hold on the teyrnir was secure...

Maude said sleepily, "Maybe I'll come back by ship. That would be faster, and I might as well, since I'm to put together those shipments of lumber. I love messing about in boats…"

"Boats are dangerous," he objected.

"Well…so am I…"

"And don't juggle in front of the banns. They won't understand."

"Loghain!"" she laughed at him, and sat up in bed, leaning over him, her dark eyes reflecting the firelight. "You'll see. I'll be so good, I couldn't be gooder. They're going to _love_ me in Gwaren."

Loghain thought they probably would. Curiously, that idea made him faintly uneasy.

* * *

He realized, the morning he saw her off, what had troubled him. Maude greeted her escort clad in her silverite-flourished Archdemon armor: she was imposing, beautiful, fearsome. She carried herself…not exactly like a queen, perhaps…

No, that was it. She was acting as she had among those lunatic worshipers. Like she had when she was the risen Andraste. Maudraste. Whatever. As if she was their leader by the mandate of Heaven. And Maker help them, the lot of them were falling in with her puppet-show: willing participants in her epic saga. It was a way of attracting adherents, certainly, though he was not sure anyone other than a ruling monarch had any business playing such a part. No one should underestimate Maude. He had made that mistake himself…

Vividly, he remembered that meeting at Eamon's before the fateful Landsmeet, when he had dismissed her as a pretty lightweight, a mere pawn of the Arl of Redcliffe. Only later, much later…too late, in fact… had he realized that she was the real danger, the greatest danger, and she had been the greatest danger all along…

She leaned out of the saddle to kiss him sweetly, and he let her, caring nothing for the curiosity of her escort.

"I'm going to miss you, Loghain," she murmured. "I'm going to miss you heaps and heaps. Are you going to miss me?"

"Probably," he grunted. Words squeezed out against his will from some place deep in his chest. He muttered, "I love you."

Her face lit up. "I know. Me too," she said, and kissed him again.

She gave him a wink, flicked her reins, and was on her way south.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: BlueRiverSaint, Guile, Judy, KCousland, Phygmalion, Josie Lange, Dante Alighieri1308, Jyggilag, Shakespira, CajinAsian, Enaid Aderyn, JackOfBladesX, cloud1004, Kira Kyuu, MsBarrows, riverdaleswhiteflash, Shikyo-sama, Sasra1281, Zute, mutive, mille libri, Jenna53, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Tyanilth, Lehni, and Persephone Chiara._

_Public as Rhoswyn's birth was, it was not as public as that of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II, whose mother Constance gave birth to him in the town square of Jesi, near Ancona, Italy, in order to forestall speculation about his parentage (she was forty at the time)._


	34. Smoked Mackerel Porridge for Breakfast

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 34: Smoked Mackerel Porridge for Breakfast  
**

Maude was in Gwaren for nearly two months. Her absence reminded Loghain unpleasantly of what his life had been like before they were together: grim, joyless, and full of drudgery. A certain sparkle was gone from the world. Without her, Morrigan and Anders' occasional quarrels ceased to be amusing; Oghren's dirty jokes became disgusting; Valentine's dewy-eyed admiration made Loghain want to knock the young man down.

His chief comfort was Topaz and her splendid little pups. They were full of life and mischief, especially his favorite: the little black one they had named Onyx, who tumbled and growled like a hero in the making.

Not that life at Soldier's Peak was devoid of worthwhile tasks. The people of this demesne needed protection from the predators stalking a land recovering from war and Blight. And the population was growing. A trickle of refugees were making their way to the Wardens' gates, hoping for work or even a vacant plot of land in need of a tenant. There were training schedules to organize, there were the repairs and improvements to the fortifications to supervise, there were his Wardens to command. The renovations to the castle and its grounds continued to move forward.

Maude, he hoped, would be pleasantly surprised with what the groundskeeper had done in her absence. Maude wanted a rose garden, and it appeared she now had one. In the center of the circular, walled garden was a big marble cinerarium to hold the ashes of cremated Wardens. Over it brooded the restored statue of Korth the Mountain Father, now with a plinth labeling him as **"Asturian, First Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and Founder of Soldier's Peak." ** Maude would appreciate both the beauty and humor of it. The mellowed stone blended well with the rose vines twining all around.

Loghain's chief concern at the moment was the need for more Wardens. To do anything serious about the Deep Roads under Ferelden—and Loghain had a number of ideas about tactics- they needed to get the Ferelden Wardens up to strength. The question was: what was that?

Duncan had made do with two dozen Wardens, and that should have been an effective fighting force at Ostagar, had it been used more wisely. Would more Wardens have made a difference? Possibly. Loghain set those considerations aside. The Battle of Ostagar was now part of history. It was over and done. He could not live his life refighting it.

Maude was in favor of a more aggressive approach to the darkspawn problem, and Loghain thought there was some merit to it. He had attempted to pick the brains of the Weisshaupt wardens about the total strength of the darkspawn, and found that they knew little more than he did himself.

The dwarves knew as much as anybody, and they did not know everything. However, their Shaper of Memories had the right of it: the darkspawn lived in cycles. In between Blights, they retreated to the Deep Roads and built up their numbers. Even now, the dwarves of Orzammar were advancing on the lost thaigs, trying to secure what they could in the breathing space before the darkspawn became too numerous to oppose.

This was a major topic of conversation at the Wardens' dinner table.

"So…" Valentine ventured. "If the Archdemon summoned the darkspawn to follow it, and if most of them did, then there were only what? A few thousand darkspawn? How many were in the horde that marched on Denerim?"

"Well, the Architect didn't march," Sigrun said tartly. "and none of those he had 'awakened" or commanded. There might be other intelligent darkspawn. They were cut off from the song. And the Broodmothers_ certainly_ couldn't march."

"In some other Blights, the darkspawn have attacked in a number of places. In the Fourth Blight they attacked the Anderfels and Antiva simultaneously," said Telamon, tapping an compilation of Blight accounts. "Thedas, as a whole, was lucky this time."

"Too bad they didn't attack the Qunari," Valentine muttered darkly.

"'Tis a great pity we do not know how long Broodmothers survive," Morrigan considered. "It could be that they are left alone in their secure nests to replenish the darkspawn, while all the rest march to war—with those exceptions Sigrun mentioned."

"And those the Broodmothers birth are already hearing the song of Razikale or Lusacan." Telamon grimaced at the thought. "If only we knew what was going on in the rest of Thedas! We report to the First Warden, but he tells us nothing in return. For all we know, the First Warden might have information about the location of the Old Gods."

Loghain digested this, and that night, in his ridiculously luxurious but lonely bed, he had an epiphany. The next morning, he began putting it into effect, writing to all the other Warden-Commanders of Thedas, telling them about the darkspawn activity seen in Ferelden over the past six months, and asking for information in return. It was clear that the First Warden simply hoarded information. This was a way around that.

Shortly after sending off his reports, he received a letter from Maude, written entirely in their private code, along with a shipment of good Gwaren lumber.

* * *

_15 Solace, Dragon 9:32_

_Dearest Loghain,_

_I am in glowing good health, and everyone is being incredibly nice to me. I hope you like all the lovely black oak I am sending you. My love to everyone. I do indeed miss you heaps and heaps. We'll see, won't we, if absence really does make the heart grow fonder...  
_

_Also, I find I particularly miss Morrigan. This has been the longest I have been away from her since I became a Warden. I know that she is very content and very involved in her researches, but it feels odd not to have her around. We need more women in the Wardens.  
_

_The journey was fairly uneventful—at least as far as anything trying to kill me was concerned. Nor did I have to kill much of anything myself. Darkspawn, Blight, hunger, and the return of local authorities have put something of a stop to the bandits that plagued Ferelden, at least in the south. Of course, quite a few were deserters from the army: men and women armed and used to violence. They might have considered themselves tough, but the darkspawn were tougher, and I suspect a lot of them died or were themselves forced to become refugees. At any rate, the size and strength of our party would certainly have aroused caution in the breast of even the hardiest highwayman. _

_My cousin Leonas spent the entire time on the road to South Reach assuring me that Habren has no designs on the crown of Ferelden. It was very entertaining. I merely looked concerned and sympathetic, which apparently alarmed him. Don't blame me for taking my entertainment where I can find it. By the way, I was right. The "diamonds" were rock crystals, and the "rubies" were mere spinels. The gold is pretty pure, though.  
_

_My juggling practice continues to go brilliantly, and I only do it in the privacy of my bedchamber. It is very relaxing. I brought my lute, too, and I practice at least a half-hour a day. I think I'm improving. If Regent of Gwaren doesn't work out for me, I can always take to the free life of the road again, this time as a minstrel._

_Joking, Loghain! I'm joking._

_Anyway, Whitewood Manor had been evacuated during the Blight, but the fields are fine, and the seneschal there is putting it back in order quite nicely. I like it so much. Sometimes I think about that time we spent in the cottage in Honnleath. The Manor is much bigger of course, but it has that rustic feel, and the water meadows are lovely.  
_

_At last I arrived in Gwaren, and the people came out to look me over, so I made an effort. They didn't say much, but no rotten turnips were thrown._

_Then I held a Court, and dressed up nicely—in that blue thing I wore for Rhoswyn's naming, because it's the most Andrastean thing I have. The banns and local freeholders seemed to like it. There were all sorts of knotty problems to resolve. Domestic disputes are the worst. Father always said so, and it's true. Your man Allonby is a jewel beyond price, by the way.  
_

_There was some fire damage to the town, started during the riots. The docks are fine, but some warehouses were set alight and a great deal of lumber lost. The elves were blamed, and consequently there is a great deal of hard feeling. It is hard to determine if elves actually set the fires or not. I am looking into it. If I were an elf, I would either be off to join the Dalish in their new homeland, or I would seeking ways to compass the death of every human in Thedas. Actually, quite a few elves have gone west. There would be a labor shortage, were it not for all the refugees from Lothering and its environs. Word is that the city elves are settling a little village of their own in the new Dalish territory. Good luck to them. I hope it doesn't all end just like the Dales, with the humans deciding that 'yes, we did want that land after all, and let's find any excuse to steal it back.'  
_

_You did not tell me how much of the Gwaren diet consists of fish. I like it, but the smoked mackerel porridge for breakfast was a little startling. You did not share with me the existence of that Gwaren delicacy. Are you smirking?  
_

_While the banns have been fairly cooperative, I cannot call them happy. They are quite put out that you are not with me, and in the High Seat where they believe you belong. There, have I fanned the fires of vanity sufficiently? Perhaps in Denerim they did not dare oppose the King and Queen, but here, in their home ground, I was told very plainly that they still considered you their Teyrn._

_Indeed, as Bann Stronar so kindly explained, no one understands why you cannot BE teyrn, Warden or not, when a Warden sits on the throne of Ferelden. It seems to them unjust and hypocritical to acclaim one Warden as King, while saying that another must lose his title because he is also a Warden. _

_Well, that is perfectly true, so there was not much I could say, other than telling them that the duties of the Grey Warden-Commander and many and onerous; and it was the decision of the Landsmeet for our child to have the title. Of course, that raised the essential, pressing question, and I was forced to be very coy. It would have been very unpleasant for me, had I not known that we are not deceiving these good people._

_But we aren't. So, ha. I know that at least one of the banns—Wiglaf—is reporting to Anora. I shall have to do some work on him. Meanwhile, I shall keep my private business private indeed._

_I brought quite a bit of my personal coin to Gwaren, as you know, and have been spending pretty freely, so as to boost the local economy. The castle needed some repairs, but also a bit of refurbishment. No, I haven't gone wild, because Gwaren Keep has not been standing deserted for two hundred years. However, like other women in my condition, I confess to a certain urge to put my house in good order while awaiting the blessed event.  
_

_I have decided that it is no longer necessary to pour my own funds into the Wardens. Between the money from Weisshaupt, the Warden treasury, and what I hope to earn from the dragonbone, the Wardens should be on a sound footing while this age lasts, at the very least. And for quite a few to come, if the Wardens don't get involved in some lunatic dispute that gets them booted from the country again.  
_

_Thus, I hereby declare that all my future loot—including the ingot cast from the crown of the False Pretender Habren— is going to Gwaren and its little teyrn. I shall take care that it is substantial._

_I shall arrive with the next shipment of lumber, but have promised to return to Gwaren in the spring. It would certainly be appropriate. Perhaps sooner, depending on the sailing weather. If possible, a visit in Drakonis would not go amiss. If the child could be born here, it would please his future vassals.  
_

_I think the Wardens should buy a ship. That is what I think. Something sleek and swift and shallow-drafted enough to be docked at Breaker's Cove. Large enough to essay the Waking Sea (which is quite narrow there, anyway), and maneuverable enough to skirt the rocky Ferelden coast. A Nevarran galley,crewed with paid oarsmen, or one of those Hercinian longships. I saw one once at Highever harbor. It was fast…very fast. It would be pleasant to travel between Soldier's Peak and Gwaren without the entire nation knowing my every movement. But that's just me._

_Ever your_

_Maude_

* * *

Mistress Woolsey, when approached, did not agree that the Wardens needed a ship.

"Paying for passage on a commercial vessel is far cheaper than maintaining a vessel and its crew," she declared. "Even purchasing cargo space costs nothing in comparison."

Well, Loghain could not fault the woman, since it was manifestly true. Besides it was not the Order that needed a ship, but Maude who wanted one. Personally, Loghain hated the idea of travel by sea. He hoped she would forget about her fancy for a ship. Sailing was a bad idea. Sailing had killed Maric. To this day, no one knew what had become of his body. The funeral held for him had been a mere matter of form without substance. Even thinking about the sea recalled that long, agonizing, futile search, and those nights spent wondering if his friend was food for fish, or had been shipwrecked on a remote island, dying slowly of thirst and starvation, or had been captured by vicious thugs who would not even trouble themselves to hold him for ransom. Then there had been the nightmares that Maric was the prisoner of the Orlesians, who would make use of him in their own malignant way.

That last possibility had kept him awake for years. It had died with the Blight. If the Orlesians had Maric, and had ever had the least intention of making use of him, the time right after Ostagar would have been the moment. Loghain had waited in fear and hope, and as the weeks passed, had accepted that if the Orlesians had ever had their hands on Maric, he must be dead by now.

But that was only one possibility. The Amaranthine Ocean was vast and largely uncharted. Aside from inhabited islands like Llomeryn and Estwatch, it was dotted with rocky islets, distantly glimpsed by sailors blown east of the safety of the charted coast, which every sane shipmaster hugged as if his life depended on it. As it did. Had Loghain not been needed to keep Ferelden functioning in those first turbulent years, he would have taken ship and looked for Maric farther afield. The sea was another world: one about which he knew little or nothing. He feared and resented it. Why could the wretched conclave of Marchers not have come to Denerim to forge an alliance?

He had sent ship after ship, but could not control how scrupulously they had searched. For all he knew, they had taken Ferelden's coin and spent it drinking and wenching around Rialto Bay. He pushed the thought of Maric aside, willing himself to believe in the best outcome: that his friend had died quickly in the first few moments of the ship's sinking.

* * *

As her letter promised, Maude arrived in Amaranthine, by way of a Gwaren merchant ship bearing yet more lumber. The breathless messenger brought word to Soldier's Peak the next morning. Loghain wondered if the experience of such a long voyage had quenched her enthusiasm for the sea, or fanned it into a blaze.

"She is in Amaranthine?" asked Morrigan, alighting in the courtyard, a few black feathers drifting in her wake. "And not before time!"

"Yes, she's there," Loghain told her brusquely, shouting at a groom to ready his horse, and saddle another for Maude.

"Good," Morrigan said, with a pretense of indifference. "We shall see what she thinks of this place. No doubt she will discover all sorts of things not done as she would like."

Anders arrived and heard the last, giving Loghain a shrug and a rueful grin. "Want some company on the way?"

"I'll go with you!" Valentine volunteered eagerly. "It will be so delightful to see her again. I hope she wasn't seasick... I'll bring some lavender water, just in case..."

They readied themselves quickly. Unlike Anders, Morrigan declined to ride, and took to the sky, skimming along a little ahead of them all the way, scouting for trouble. The Coast Road was busier and better-patrolled than ever, but it would stupid to be careless. Impatient at any delay, Loghain galloped down the hard, dusty path, the sound of the surf below the dizzying seacliffs blending with hoofbeats and heartbeats; longing for his crazy Maude in every bone and sinew. He knew he was probably not the most pleasant companion at the moment, but as long as no one tried to force him to converse, he probably would not hack off any heads.

She had managed to make a grand entrance, apparently, even traveling on a cargo ship, for the men at the city gates could tell them that the Regent of Gwaren was at Bann Nathaniel's mansion.

She would be, of course, though it worried him faintly. Maude and Nathaniel Howe alone in a room together seemed a fairly explosive combination. The Keep seemed intact, however, as he rode up. No ominous smoke arose from the topmost tower. The horses were taken away, and he was quickly shown in by the doorkeeper.

"The Bann and Her Grace are upstairs in the solar, my lord...er-Warden-Commander. Permit to show you the way..."

Loghain knew the way already, and outpaced the puffing servant, his Wardens behind him. They passed a guard room, where Darrow and Kain were stuffing their faces. The men bounded up like dogs who had seen their master.

"My lord!" Darrow hastily wiped his face and stood at attention. "Er...Commander! Her Grace is upstairs! Ser!"

Kain chimed in. "Brought back safe and sound! As ordered! Ser!"

"Well done. Follow me."

Up an endless stair, turning and turning, the sound of that one clear voice emerging from the pounding of booted feet... A door opening...

"Loghain!"

She charged him, a blur of green velvet, arms outstretched. Ranger gamboled around them, barking joyously. Nathaniel Howe grimaced, looking away, as Loghain caught Maude up in his arms and held her. Then she dragged his face down to hers and kissed him thoroughly.

"Ummm," she murmured, her dark eyes drowsy. "You've been riding by the sea. I can taste the salt on you..."

Howe said everything proper, welcoming the Wardens to dine with him and stay the night. Of course they would. It was that or the Crown and Lion, where Loghain had not the least desire to stay in this lifetime or the next.

"That's so kind of you, Nathaniel," Maude cooed. "I had a lovely voyage, but it's a pleasant change to be on solid ground again. And Loghain! I've got us some sylvanwood this time. It's gorgeous. Even if we don't need it all, we can sell it off in lots to joiners and cabinet-makers..." She smiled at him dreamily. "I haven't finished unpacking yet. Perhaps you like to help me?"

Everyone was shown to their rooms. As soon as they were alone, Maude worked on making their clothes vanish, while words bubbled from her like a fountain.

"Gwaren still has all those lovely, advantageous trade agreements that you settled with Rendon! Ha! It costs us practically nothing at all to unload cargo here! Amaranthine doesn't even have the right to inspect it! That's very convenient. You are so clever…"

In his distraction as they fell into bed, Loghain vaguely recalled that the agreements would last another eight years or so. Rendon Howe had wanted to keep him happy, and had tossed in the freedom of Amaranthine harbor. That was convenient indeed. It had been a minor matter during the war, but it would be a major advantage for the Wardens…

"Oh, Loghain!' Maude was urging him, breathless and flushed. "Do _hurry_…"

* * *

"I've learned absolute heaps!" she declared, smiling up at the paneled ceiling.

"Heaps of what?" he rumbled, running a finger along the shallow curve of her breast. She caught at his hand, kissing his fingers, and then put her palm up against his, amused at the difference in the size of their hands.

"Heaps about Gwaren. Heaps about the lumber trade. Heaps about dried and smoked fish. Ummmm. Smoked mackerel porridge for breakfast _every day!_ Your housekeeper said it would make my hair shine. Do you think it's shinier? Heaps about the sea, especially around Gwaren. Heaps about mining salt. I went to Salt Island three times! I went there in a darling little boat with blue sails! It's a very nice island, with a pretty beach. Do you like to go there? I found your summerhouse. It's not in bad shape."

He paused, remembering. Celia had liked it, taking off her shoes, hiking up her gown, dabbling her toes in the cool surf. Her blonde hair had loosened in the breeze, and she had looked over at him, laughing...

"I went there a few times. Anora enjoyed it when she was little."

"Well, I like it too! I thought the water would be colder there, since it's farther south even than Ostagar, but it's not. Captain Winters—the captain of the _Bold Sunrise_—said it was because of the currents."

"Yes," Loghain said. "The ocean currents bring warm water there. It's a mystery, but the water is quite a bit warmer there than in Denerim."

"I liked Gwaren. Everyone there reminded me of you."

Loghain thought about that for awhile, wondering if there was a compliment in there or not. The men of Gwaren were a grim and dour lot: parsimonious with coin and words. Brave and hardy, of course...

She rolled over, still smiling, but her eyes were serious.

"Loghain, there's something I've got to talk to you about right away. You'd know anyway, when we go to gather up the lumber wagons for the trip home tomorrow."

What had she done? Adopted an orphan? Rescued yet another apostate? Stolen the royal treasury?

Gravely, she said, "I told the shipmaster to wait in Amaranthine. I gave him a retainer, because," she took a deep breath-"I'm going to Kirkwall in a sevenday."

_"What?"_

"Our dragonbone. I've got to cash it in. I have to go, and I have to go _now_. It's the only possible time. I have to be back here and able to go to Highever when Fergus' child is born. That's in late Harvestmere. After that, I'm afraid my body will let me down. And then I'll have the baby, and I won't want to leave him."

He lay there, angry, appalled, and winded. "Send a merchant."

"We'd be cheated of half the value. That dragonbone is a one-time windfall, Loghain. It's very important that we make the most of it. Who do you know who could get more for it than I can?"

"You just want to go messing about in boats again!"

She pulled back, surprised at his anger.

"I _do_ like ships," she said, sweetly reasonable. "I think more Fereldens need to know more about the sea. I made Captain Winters teach me all he could about navigating, and I talked him into letting me copy some of his charts. It's very painstaking work. I'll show you, Loghain. They're just like maps, only of water instead of land! I'll learn a lot more on the voyage to Kirkwall, and I promise to finish and get back as soon as I can."

"What do you mean about your body 'letting you down?' Have you been ill?"

"No! I've been great! I think Grey Wardens only get sick from one thing. That said, when I start getting big, people will only see a weak and feeble pregnant woman and they'll all be out to take horrible advantage of me. And then I might not be able to fight so well, with a big bump sticking out my front, getting in my way when I'm trying to use my sword. Once I'm obviously pregnant, I think I'm going to have to—" she made a horrible face—"take it...easy."

Loghain barked a bitter laugh. "How about now? You take it easy, and I'll go to bloody Kirkwall, and take the gold out of their hides..."

She rolled on her back, laughing. "I'll bet you would! I want the Marchers' _coin,_ Loghain! I hadn't planned the Sack of Kirkwall!" Her brows knit. "Though that might be very, very profitable..."

He was still cross with her at dinner, and said little. He supposed he could command her not to go, but he was not sure she would obey a direct command. Maude, truth be told, was not a particularly good soldier. A brilliant warrior—among the greatest in Ferelden—but not a soldier. She had lost her respect for the opinions and commands of others during the Blight, and he doubted she would see any point in obedience ever again. The fact was, of course, that she was absolutely right about the central issue. No one could bargain for coin like Maude, and the dragonbone was worth thousands in gold. She was the best person for the job. It could even be regarded as her _duty_ to go.

Anders discreetly checked her out and assured them both that all as just as it should be. Maude, of course, took that as a sign that her voyage was under the protection of the Maker himself. Loghain, bowed under the weight of the past, found it hard to articulate to her all the reasons he hated the thought of her out on the incomprehensible sea, her only shelter a frail vessel of wood. If only they made ships of stouter materials: iron or silverite...

"I'm going to be fine," she assured him repeatedly, throughout the meal. "I'll introduce Captain Winters to you, and you'll see he's a competent man and a nice fellow."

"'_Competent man'_ is reassuring," Loghain growled, "'_Nice fellow'_ is not."

"I suppose that's true," she admitted. "In a crisis, I don't like men to be sweet and agreeable. I like them mean and heavily armed."

"Don't linger in Kirkwall. It's a rotten place."

"So everyone says. Lots of coin to be had, though. I promise I'll hurry back just as soon as I can sell the dragonbone. Really. I _promise."_

* * *

Contrary to Morrigan's predictions, Maude was enchanted with everything they had done at the Peak. The rose garden delighted her. The grandeur of the Great Hall satisfied even her boundless vanity. She was happy at Ranger's happiness when he was reunited with his mate and the adorable puppies.

Even the untended wilderness of the old orchards pleased her, for here was scope for improvement. And quite good apples, in the bargain. The Honeygolds were ripening, and the Wineskins were already perfect: a glowing rich dark red. Everyone from Warden-Commander to kitchen maid came out to pick them, filling basket after basket. Loghain and Maude walked among the trees, munching when they were not picking. The dogs nosed around, the puppies exploring the orchard, while Ranger and Topaz carried them back to their cozy blanket if they wandered too far afield.

"These are wonderful," Maude enthused, admiring the apples. "I hope they keep well."

"They'll keep best in the form of cider and brandy," Loghain told her. "We have a press, newly made by our engineers. That's the next project, once they're all picked."

"Ooo! Our own cider! I love cider. Apple brandy, too. Do you know how to make brandy?"

"Oghren does. He says he does, anyway, and I'm inclined to trust his abilities in anything pertaining to strong drink."

"Of course. _Soldier's Peak Apple Brandy!_ We shall sell it and make our fortune..."

"We've already made our fortune." He took her by the hand, and made her sit with him in the shade of an old and twisted tree. "If you really and truly must make this dangerous voyage, we might as well make the most of it. When you are in Kirkwall, look about for a really fine stallion for stud. If you can find an Antivan Barb, that would be the best."

"Thank you for telling me what you'd like me to bring you from Kirkwall."

"What I particularly would like from Kirkwall is _you."_

"I'm going to be fine, Loghain!" Maude shook her head, polishing another apple on his loose linen shirt, offering him the first bite. "You really should believe me when I tell you things are going to be fine." She lay back on the grass, biting slowly and luxuriously into the firm, sweet fruit. "This is so nice..." She sighed. "I'm sorry to go and miss any of the autumn. And we missed the spring, too, when the trees were in blossom. Next year, though..."

He stroked a wayward lock out of her face. "Next year?"

"Next year is going to be different," she said thoughtfully. "Next year I'm going to be a mother. I'll be a mother for the rest of my life. When I was a child, I thought about all the things I could be: a warrior, a bard, a pirate, an adventurer, a treasure-hunter— a Warden, even!" She laughed. "But next year I'm really going to be a mother. I'll be pretty busy digging my claws into Gwaren, too. The Crown might not be so happy with me starting next year."

Loghain hoped she was not being prophetic. Anora and Alistair had little right to be disappointed if, when they granted a gift, it was accepted. Maude stood up and admired the view: the Coast Mountains rising around them, the green slopes like velvet and the sky a burning blue. Soldier's Peak shown in this setting like a big, rough-cut jewel: an ancient but vital link to the past. Maude waved her arm at the scene.

"I can't wait for Fergus to see this! And the King and Queen, too! I wonder if they'll feel like traveling before the spring Landsmeet?"

"I doubt it," Loghain said. "I doubt they'll do any traveling at all until afterward, in the summer. By then, even this—" he pointed to the overgrown orchard—"should be tamed."

"Not completely, I hope," she laughed, taking another bite of her apple. "I don't like anything to be_ completely_ tamed! Even you!"

* * *

_I had to stop here, because the next chapter will be Maude's letters from Kirkwall, which are already written, and very lengthy!_

_When I thought about smoked mackerel porridge, I was thinking about Brandade de Morue: an emulsion of salt cod, garlic, and olive oil, pureed and eaten with bread or potatoes. Gwaren has lots of fish, and lots of salt. Hence the porridge. It would have a much coarser texture than a brandade, of course. We are accustomed to things like oatmeal being sweetened, but traditionally, such porridges were buttered and salted, since sugar was a rare luxury. I've thought about sugar in Ferelden. They might have sugar beets, and they have honey, but cane sugar must be prodigiously expensive. They probably eat a lot of Scottish-type oatcakes in Gwaren, too. Probably with the mackerel porridge. Yum.  
_

_For those of you who didn't read _The Stolen Throne_: "Gwaren" is derived from a dwarven word for "salt marsh." There is a sealed entrance to the Deep Roads near Gwaren, because there was a dwarven outpost there long before a human settlement—before the days of the darkspawn, too. The dwarves are long gone, but the name stuck._

_Oh, and yes. The First Warden does in fact know where the Old Gods are.  
_

_In the most recent DLC rogue pack there's quite a bit of lore about Maric's disappearance at sea, and Loghain's two-year search for him, which is new to canon. It makes clear that the body was never found. It mentions a "Ferelden navy," which is a bit of a hoot. We otherwise have not the slightest indication that there is such an institution. I find it impossible to believe that there is. Navies are tremendously expensive to build, man, and maintain. At most, Ferelden might have a state ship or two. Fereldens do not seem to be much of a sea-going people at this point, though I feel that should change. Furthermore, if there were such a thing, the navy could have organized a more effective evacuation. There are islands off Ferelden (most especially at the mouth of the River Dane and the archipelago near Amaranthine, which it is likely that darkspawn cannot access. Alamar has only the small village of Alamar shown on it and Brandel's Reach appears to be uninhabited. That makes no sense to me. Shakespira, in her _By A Sea Divided,_ has her Warden-Commander urge very sensibly for the fortification of those islands as a protection against naval invasion. Even if the islands are rocky and infertile, they could at least be used to pasture sheep, and the shape of Brandel's Reach suggest at least one very fine harbor. Perhaps their sovereignty is in dispute. It's also possible that they have been the habitations of outlaws and pirates. That should change. Some of those islands are visible from Amaranthine, and there should be a lighthouse, at least, to guide the way through the channel between the islands and the mainland.  
_

_Thanks to my reviewers: Josie Lange, Zute, Cloud1004, Judy, Psyche Sinclair, Phygmalion, Shakespira, mutive, Eva Galana, JackOfBladesX, mille libri, Lehni, Jenna53, Kira Kyuu, Enaid Aderyn, Tyanilth, Sarah1281, pulchritudo in omnia, chocolatebrownie12, and sapphiretoes._


	35. Wardens Abroad

**T****he Keening Blade**

**Chapter 35: Wardens Abroad**

Thinking of Maude at sea was far worse than thinking of her in Gwaren. He had ordered Kain and Darrow to go with her, and Valentine had volunteered to travel with them too. The lad was a Marcher himself, after all. He knew the Free Marches well, and had spent time in Kirkwall. Before going herself, Maude had sensibly sent a letter to Viscount Dumar, Kirkwall's ruler, informing him of her upcoming visit.

She had sent the letter, in fact, as soon as she arrived in Amaranthine, Loghain discovered. It was irritating—even a little hurtful— that she had made her decision to cross the Waking Sea without consulting him. Useless to tax her with it, since she would stare at him, sweetly and blankly, and then point out that she knew what was going to happen, and that he would agree that it was necessary, and needless delay was illogical...

After the wrench of seeing her off, he left a pair of guards in Amaranthine, comfortably ensconced at the Crown and Lion, to serve as couriers if a letter should arrive from Amaranthine. Maker knew how long it would take her to conduct her business in Kirkwall, and she had promised to write him as soon as she safely set foot on dry land again.

Anxious days passed: days of peering north toward the sea, trying to divine the weather, days he spent sick with dread at the prospect of storms. Maude's luck was holding, it seemed, for there was not even a rainshower. By the time the couriers arrived with parchment sealed with the Gwaren wyvern, he was so angry with her for going away that it took him a moment to compose himself, and actually accept the letter.

But he did; and cracked the seal instead of shredding the parchment. In a moment he was devouring Maude's words.

* * *

_10 Kingsway, Dragon 9:32_

_Dearest Loghain—_

_I had a most delightful voyage across the Waking Sea! Captain Winters let me take the wheel very often. Such fun! I am learning all I can of the art of navigation by the stars and lodestones. If one is going to own a ship, one should know everything about it. The sailors are so competent, and can make sail at a single word from their captain. Poor Valentine is not a very good sailor, I fear, and spent a great deal of time hanging over the rail. I am never seasick. Nor are Kain and Darrow, who take it all in stride._

_Such beautiful things I have seen! I wish you were here to share them! There have been pods—the correct word is pods— of Silverback dolphins, who follow the ship and pop up to squeak at us so charmingly. Scout barked back at them at length, and the dolphins seemed amused by him. They grin, Loghain! Actually grin—much like dogs. I believe they are at least as intelligent. The sailors tells tales of how they have been known to rescue shipwrecked sailors. We saw some sharks, too, but the dolphins fought them off in a quick, savage battle. I swear that the dolphins were coordinating their offense, squealing at each other as they surrounded and slaughtered the sharks! I have tried talking to the dolphins, but with little success. They smile nicely at me, however._

_We also came upon a school of rainbow flyers, who leaped together out of the sea, and hummed past, their fins glittering. At some distance, we saw a huge whale breach out of the water, and smack the sea with his flukes. Such a huge spray of water! I asked about ambergris, and Winters said it was sometimes cast up on the Wounded Coast near Kirkwall, but that many people did not know what it was. It is pretty disgusting in its raw form._

_We did not see a sea dragon, which the captain told me would be a Bad Thing, anyway. They are rare in the Waking Sea, of course, preferring the warm waters of the Amaranthine Ocean up around Rivain. The captain has seen them, and could tell me about them. They sound formidable._

_Anyway, I reached Kirkwall with no trouble from dragons or pirates. I'm awfully glad I wrote to Viscount Dumar before coming, for Fereldens are treated like absolute dirt in this country. I had no sooner got off the boat, when I heard references to "Dog Lords," which is the charming term used for Fereldans in the Free Marches. Naturally, I presumed they were speaking of Ranger, who is indeed a lord amongst the pitiful curs here. He doesn't mind the title, so I continue to act as if I believe it applies to him. Actually, I think "Ranger, Dog Lord of Ferelden" is very suitable and deserved, after all his exploits. We should propose it at the next Landsmeet. I think Topaz would like being made a Lady._

_I found out that a ship was departing for Amaranthine the following day, and arranged to send my letter to you by it. Captain Winters has agreed to remained docked in Amaranthine until I am ready to leave. It is expensive, but with this and that, I think it wise to have a means of departure handy._

_The Chantry (meaning loud-mouthed Templars) rules the roost here in Kirkwall, and is constantly on the lookout for scary, sinister apostates. That means, of course, that Kirkwall is packed with them, since the Templars are their usual incompetent selves. Then, too, there is something off about Kirkwall: I've read that there's a disproportionate number of mages who go wrong here. Perhaps it's the extraordinary level of Templar oppression: perhaps it's something in the water. I shall have mine boiled very carefully._

_The Hightown is quite beautiful, once the initial impression at the harbor wears off a little. The seaway into Kirkwall really is as grim and forbidding as everyone says. Kirkwall deserves its old name of The City of Chains. Those two colossi the locals call The Twins—the statues depicting anguished slaves at the harbor entrance— are enormous and dreadful. I suspect the Marchers here are secretly proud of their past as the center of the Tevinter slave trade, or they would have long since destroyed those horrible statues. I would, anyway. _

_Thinking about it a little more...this city is old: very, very old. Considering what the Tevinters did here when the city was called Emerius, I would not be surprised for a mage to tell me that the Veil is dangerously thin throughout the city. And of course in the days of the Tevinters, any one from what is now Ferelden would be brought in on a slave ship._

_Had I not been a distinguished visitor with a title or two, I myself would have been relegated to the Gallows—the horrible barracks where slaves were locked up on their arrival, back in the bad old days. Now refugee Fereldans are kept there if no one will agree to take them in. The Gallows is also where the Kirkwall Circle of Magi is imprisoned. _

_Tell Morrigan that I met someone we know! When we were saving the Circle from itself, along the way we saved a pretty and touchingly earnest Templar by the name of Cullen. Morrigan will remember him as the poor sod who was being kept in a spherical ward and driven mad by visions—I suspect of nubile young mages. Anyway, he's here and second-in-command of the Templars and comparatively sane now. He greeted me on my arrival and was very polite to me. Of course, so he should be!_

_Most people have been, other than those who make the Dog Lord remarks, which trouble me not at all. Of course, the glamorous armor and the gold don't hurt. I only had to give my name to obtain an audience with the Viscount. He knows my family, after all, and is no doubt hoping I'll take home some of our countrymen. He is a thin, anxious, harried, elderly man, and seems somewhat out of his depth._

_He seemed to like me well enough, and invited me to dinner. I broke down and wore my black and grey velvet, which was much admired. His son Saemus chatted on and on at table, mostly about the Qunari. He is a nice but naïve boy, and is entranced by them, apparently. Fortunately, I could meet him in conversation, with talk about Sten and his winning ways. Now he thinks me a kindred spirit and a wise and wonderful woman. Which I am._

_I have seen no gowns here nicer than mine. Nor armor either, for that matter. _

_More seriously, though, the Qunari are in Kirkwall. Really. I did not understand at first, even at the docks, but an entire regiment of Qunari, commanded by an Arishok, is IN the city. Hence Saemus Dumar's starstruck awe. _

_They claim to be shipwrecked, and awaiting a relief vessel, but I do not believe it for a minute. They are Up to Something, and I say that as one who has often been Up to Something myself. They have fortified a private compound within the dockyard district. I tried to control my expression at the news that the viscount had permitted a foreign armed force within his walls. Is he mad? Or madly careless?_

_Well, now that they are here, the viscount has not a large enough guard to dislodge them by force (which would mean killing them all), and the Chantry is only interested in yammering on about mages. Things cannot go on as they are indefinitely. I will bet serious coin that the Qunari stage a coup eventually. Perhaps they are trying out a new strategy in Kirkwall. At any rate, if the Qunari are getting interested in the Waking Sea, then Ferelden had better do something about port defenses, and NOW. Tell Anora about this. I'll sniff about and see what I can discover. Yes, I'll be careful._

_If I want to get this letter on the ship to Amaranthine I must close right now. Love to all, and especially to you._

_Ever your_

_Maude_

* * *

_"_That's lovely," Anders snarked. "Maude's in a town in the process of being invaded by the Qunari."

That was the first response when Loghain shared the letter at dinner. It was not one calculated to make him feel better about her situation. It did sound like an invasion: not a quick, brutal attack, but a slow and subtle infiltration, lulling the city into complacency, while the invaders dug in, readying themselves to strike. Maude should leave as soon as possible, and that is exactly what he would tell her.

Keenan considered the matter. "The Qunari conquered Kirkwall back in the Storm Age, and occupied it for years. You'd think the Viscount would have dealt with them summarily. They would have been vulnerable right after that shipwreck. That was the time to strike."

Telamon shook his head. "Dumar is a doddering fool. He's a Chantry puppet. The Templars didn't want anyone capable in office, and this is the result."

"And Cullen!" Morrigan sneered. "I remember him! A comely lad, yes, but mad with fear. He wanted us to kill everything in our path. After we put down the uprising, he urged his commander to slay all the surviving members of the Circle, lest they be secret blood mages. 'Tis a wonderment that he can look Maude in the eye after such behavior."

"I remember Cullen, too," Anders said, with wry nostalgia. "He used to stammer and blush when any girl spoke to him. The sort who pretends to be your friend right up until the moment when he cuts off your head. He'd be the sort who'd tell you how bad that made him feel. Of course, you'd feel worse, but you're just a mage and don't feel things like real people."

Loghain was ready to change the subject, not in the mood for Anders' typical rant about the Chantry. Morrigan, however, had more to say.

"I find it interesting that he is in Kirkwall now. Did the Knight-Commander weary of the boy's hysteria and transfer him abroad? Or did he do something untoward that could not be concealed?"

"Knight-Commander Greagoir is unlikely to tell us," said Loghain, rather uneasy himself. It was bad enough that Kirkwall was full of invading Qunari: it was worse that it was also full of lyrium-crazed zealots who held views antipathetic to Maude's own. He hoped she had the sense not to talk about religion to anyone in Kirkwall. He suspected that free-thinking was not encouraged there.

He had letters to write himself, and left the dinner table in a grim mood.

First to Anora—and Alistair—telling them the news from Kirkwall. They might already know it and had not bothered to share it. They might even dismiss it. Nonetheless, it was cause for concern. He would write tonight, and have the letter on its way to Denerim tomorrow. Then he would travel to Amaranthine himself, to discuss the situation with Nathaniel Howe and to send a brief letter to his wife. Four words should be enough:

_Dear Maude:_

_Come home._

* * *

"I'd heard that a Qunari ship had been wrecked near Kirkwall," Nathaniel said, rather startled, after civil greetings and a friendly glass of wine, "but not that they were actually in the city itself. That seems...unwise."

"Unwise on the part of the Viscount, certainly. Very convenient for the Qunari if they intend to seize the city," Loghain snorted. "One wonders if the ship was wrecked or merely grounded."

"Kirkwall is on the other side of the Waking Sea," Nathaniel mused.

"—But Amaranthine and Highever—and even Denerim— are closer to the Qunari homelands. Do you know," Loghain asked, "that a Qunari officer traveled with Maude during the Blight? He said his Arishok had sent to him to investigate the Blight. His men were killed, but he survived, and traveled the length and breadth of our country. I daresay he had quite a lot of intelligence to share."

Nathaniel stood still, eyes wide and alarmed. "Perhaps you should talk to Fergus Cousland about this as well."

"I intend to. And Wulffe, too. West Hill sits directly across the sea from Kirkwall. I hope you will mention this to Delilah. Ferelden has to think seriously about its northern defenses." He frowned. "There is certainly no need for a panic, but for sensible, long-range planning..."

Looking briefly miserable, Nathaniel said, "I hate to pile more on her, poor girl. She hates being Arlessa, you know."

"She should marry. A reliable husband would share her burden." Then Loghain grimaced, trying to think of likely candidates. There were a fewer younger sons of Banns, but nothing from the higher nobility. Habren Bryland had snapped up Teagan Guerrin, and the only other eligible unmarried man of comparable nobility was the Arl of South Reach himself, who had enough on his plate without saddling himself with the problems of an arling that did not march with his. Unfortunately, Loghain could not come up with the name of _anyone_ he thought both decent and competent enough to deserve Delilah. If Bryland's younger son were older, he would be the most appropriate match, but the boy was only twelve. Flinching away from that image, he changed the subject, but only slightly.

"And you as well. You were much admired at the spring Landsmeet. There seems little reason for delay..."

Nathaniel brow darkened. "Warden-Commander, I welcome your advice in anything pertaining to the security of Ferelden and Amaranthine, but I would prefer you did not try to play matchmaker."

Loghain stiffened. He was only trying to help the young man..."As you wish."

Young Howe's expression was very peculiar. "The only match ever seriously put forward for me was with the lady to whom you are now married. That was when I was fifteen, and as you may have noticed, the attempt was unsuccessful. I think it best if I arrange something for myself."

Loghain had not known this. He wondered if her parents had told Maude. "It was my understanding that the plan was for Maude to wed your brother Thomas."

"That was later. After I had proved myself so unsatisfactory that my father sent me into exile abroad." The bitterness in the young man's voice lay heavy in the air. "Of course, Maude was a child then, but a clever, amusing one: and anyone with eyes could see she would be a beauty. I liked her, and she seemed to like me well enough, from the way she plagued me. The prospect of one day being Arl of Amaranthine with Maude as my Arlessa was one I was happily becoming used to, for a brief time before my father put an end to it."

Instantly, Loghain could see it all: an entirely different series of events; an alternate history of the past ten years. If Howe had secured Maude for Nathaniel—whom he knew for a fact would have been acceptable to Bryce and Eleanor, unlike Thomas—the Howes would have had a legitimate claim on Highever, should any "unfortunate accident" befall the rest of the family. Nathaniel and Maude would have been Teyrn and Teyrna, no doubt influenced and guided by Rendon. They almost certainly would have had children by now.

But that was only in a world without Blight. However charming a domestic picture such fancies made, it was possible that they might have perished in blood and fire and darkspawn taint. Although Loghain would always detest the man, it was entirely likely that Duncan had saved Ferelden the night he recruited the reluctant Warden Maude.

After a moment he said, "If the Maker bothers to look down at us at all, it seems to me that he revels most in irony."

* * *

Five days later, another letter arrived. Not just a letter, actually: for the couriers rode back with a woman behind one of them and a man behind the other. These starved, ragged people bowed before Loghain, while a courier briskly handed him a letter.

"Her Grace gave them a note saying they were to come with the letter, Commander," the courier said.

"The lady promised work for us, my lord," the man explained, very nervously.

"—and coin," whispered the woman.

Loghain scowled at then, and broke the seal. This letter appeared to be quite long.

"Find quarters for them and give them a meal," he told the courier. To the couple he said, "We'll speak later."

He went to the new and shining library and sprawled in a chair to read Maude's latest adventures.

* * *

_15 Kingsway, Dragon 9:30_

_Dearest Loghain-_

_I am sending this by way of Pol Sinton and his wife Ailidh, who are eager to keep our sheep up at Soldier's Peak. I promised them a situation and five gold sovereigns, so do be good enough to keep my word. You said something about sheep anyway, so here is your shepherd. They are from the Hinterlands, and lost everything to darkspawn. Like most Fereldens, they have not exactly made their fortune in Kirkwall, City of Chains, and are eager to return home. I believe there was a child who died, so don't be too hard with them._

_Everybody wants my dragon bits, but quite a few don't want to pay for them. Understandable, but not permissible. There was a bit of a scuffle on our ship, but I dealt with it, and made the folk understand that no one steals from me. _

_Apparently the Viscount likes me, for hearing of the altercation, he was good enough to have his people arrange for a house for me in Hightown, where the cargo has been stored and locked away. _

_It is a very nice house. Very civilized. I am glad I brought my own servants and guards though. My bed is very large and comfortable and I wish you were in it._

_For that matter, Kirkwall appears very civilized on the surface. Valentine has been taking me about the city. It's great fun exploring a new place. _

_Anyway, a consortium of wealthy dwarves want to buy all the dragon things I have, but they imagine they can wear me down to their price. Very funny. Of course, their price has gone up quite a bit in the last few days, so who knows? I don't want to stay here forever. I drop a word now and then about going on to Cumberland. That seems to make them very nervous. It is very amusing._

_All sorts of people have called on me, along with the merchants hot for dragonbone. Lots of Fereldans, of course, wanting to get out of here. I discovered a shop in the Lowtown called Lirene's, which caters to Fereldans. I was practically mobbed there. Kain and Darrow proved their worth. I did not want anyone hurt, but I did want to breathe. _

_Now, every morning, there is a line outside the house where I am lodged: petitioners wanting my help in returning home or wanting me to put in a good word with the Viscount for them._

_Among the latter is an interesting family of decayed gentry named Hawke. The father, now deceased, was Fereldan, and the mother is an Amell, a noble Kirkwall house. From what I can gather, amidst all the puffery and exaggeration, Leandra ran away with a Fereldan commoner. They lived in Lothering, and during the Blight, the widow fled to Kirkwall with her children, expecting to be forgiven by her brother and to live at the family estate. She had believed herself to have been disinherited by her parents when they died._

_Not so, however. She is very tiresome, but the children are interesting, and they really have been ill-used. They arrived to find that Leandra's brother had already run through the estate, and was now living in a hovel in Lowtown. Worse still, they discovered that Leandra had never been disinherited, and was the rightful heir. _

_In order to be admitted into the town proper (and not kept in the horrible Gallows), the son and daughter had to indenture themselves for a year to a mercenary company. The indenture now fulfilled, they are attempting to restore their fallen fortunes._

_Widow Hawke has petitioned the Viscount to return title of the family home to her, which brings me to the reason she calls on me nearly every day_

_The house which the Viscount appointed for my use is in fact the old Amell property, and very nice it is. When I am done with it, I see no reason not to appease the widow. I would prefer that they return to Ferelden, but Widow Hawke is set on remaining in Kirkwall, and the children are very dutiful. I do like Adam and Bethany: they are very well-bred and pleasant company. I think Valentine fancies Adam, but not so much that he would be untrue to you, dearest._

_After dinner with the local nobles and visiting the tiresome Hightown taverns, I discovered that for a city that hates Orlesians, the upper class is absolutely stuffed with them. And those who are not Orlesian, act like them anyway. Silly people. They all ask about you, of course, and I let them talk. One pretty fool, the Comtesse de Launcet, thinks you're some sort of ogre. She actually attempted to be sympathetic!_

_"Do I appear ill-used to you, Comtesse?" I asked her. She became very flustered._

_"No—no, of course not, __Madame la Régente!"_

_"Actually," I told her. "My dear Loghain is a _gorgeous_ husband." I smiled at her reassuringly, but she seemed rather unnerved by the whole conversation. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of "Loghain" and "gorgeous" in the same sentence. More fool she. If her idea of a good husband is the doughy, pampered nonentity who is the Comte de Launcet, I can definitely see why you might not be to her taste. The man would drop dead if he had to run a mile in armor!_

_Having had enough of these twittering bores, I went with the two young Hawkes to a lively tavern in Lowtown, called the Hanged Man. Yes, yes, Ranger, Valentine, Kain, and Darrow went too. The ale was a bit thin compared with a proper Ferelden brew, but the company entertaining. A charming place: you cannot imagine a more wretched hive of scum and villainy!  
_

_I met someone else I knew! Morrigan and Oghren will remember a Rivaini sea captain named Isabela, who bested three swordsmen at the Pearl, and was good enough to share some of her dueling tricks with me. She is in Kirkwall, and 'between ships,' as she says, for the Siren's Call was wrecked, and she is doing a bit of smuggling, I surmise. She is as charming as ever, and young Adam Hawke was quite taken with her. We had a pleasant evening, and he introduced me to his friend, Varric Tethras, the younger brother of one of the prosperous dwarven merchant princes in Kirkwall. He is a very amusing type and a great storyteller. _

_While some of our party played cards, and Adam and Isabela flirted, this Varric told me a very interesting story indeed: the story of why the young Hawkes are cultivating me so assiduously. Not for my undoubted charm or my possible influence with the Viscount, but because I am a Grey Warden! Varric and the Hawkes are hoping to winkle some maps of the Deep Roads out of me, in order to better prepare for a hare-brained expedition to same._

_! ! !_

_Varric is a partner in the venture, and the Hawkes have amassed a small fortune—some fifty sovereigns—to buy their way in from Varric's stingy older brother. Adam desperately wants to provide a decent home for his mother and sister: a worthy goal to be sure, but what a way to attempt it!_

_Leaving the tavern, we were set upon by one of the local gangs. Mere buffoons, of course, but they nearly put a hole in the skirt of my gown! So that was the end of them, and they seemed rather startled. I discovered more interesting facts, though, in the course of that little affray, and one of them is that Bethany Hawke is a mage._

_Of course, now it's all rather clearer. Apparently the father was a mage as well. They're a family of apostates, trying to avoid the Chantry's notice. A house in Hightown would give the girl an extra layer of protection. Adam was slightly wounded, so I helped them home and had a look at the 'hovel' they wish to escape. Widow Hawke was there, of course, but not the uncle, who apparently spends his leisure at an expensive brothel._

_Well—their house really isn't so bad. I thought it had possibilities, but I'm a Fereldan barbarian, after all. Rather dirty, but soap and water are not beyond their means. It's large enough that one could do quite a bit with partitions, and the children have amassed plenty of coin for decent furniture, but they are so set on regaining their lost status that they refuse to do anything to improve their current situation. _

"_You see how we have to live!" the widow wailed. I fear Varric saw something of my opinion in my eye. I have slept in worse places. A lot worse._

_So young Bethany (for she is quite young) healed her brother, and I was once again belabored: by the widow for my supposed influence with the Viscount; and by the Hawke chicks for maps of the Deep Roads. _

_I have them, of course, but I tried to explain that I thought the adventure was much, much more dangerous than they could possibly imagine. I told them a few tales, but alas, that only seem to excite them. I shouldn't have included the looting bits, I suppose. _

_The delightful Varric called on me the following day, and told me a little more of their affairs. They are not without friends in Kirkwall. The captain of the city guard came with them from Ferelden (which is something I wish to know much, much more about), and Adam did the Viscount's son some service. With a little effort on my part, I believe I can talk the Viscount round quite easily, and then the Hawkes shall have the old home place, plus the small fortune the children have won. Possibly I can wangle some court position for Adam, and then we'll need hear no more about the Deep Roads!_

_Anyway, enough of them! They are typical of some of the refugees here. After looking about, there also are a number of our countrymen that Ferelden is better off without. As for the others, I wish I could load up the Bold Sunrise with them and send them home tomorrow. It cannot be, however, for the threat of my leaving is one of the chief weapons in driving up my prices. If I seemed stranded, that would be the end of that!_

_I am to dine tomorrow with the Viscount again, and with some of the notables of the Chantry. Somehow I think that weak ale at the Hanged Man would be infinitely more pleasant._

_As for the little teyrn, he is wonderfully well, and being a model of unborn discretion. He is there and sometimes moving a bit—a strange sensation—but I can still wear my gowns, so at the moment my situation is perfectly comfortable. _

_I hope to conclude my shopkeeping in the next week or so. If the dwarf consortium can come through for me, it looks like the next few generations of Fereldan Wardens will be very flush indeed!_

_Now that the ship is empty of dragonbone, which takes up so much space, I am considering how to fill it on my return. Even a great sum of gold leaves room for other cargo. I am looking about for your stallion (though horses are not permitted within the walls of Kirkwall). The stables and stockyards are all outside in a great sprawl to the west. My brave companions and I had an outing there. There were some possibilities, but nothing irresistible. Lots of grim-faced guards loomed about. Apparently when the Qunari landed, a large number of them headed for the hills along the Wounded Coast and became Tal-Vashoth (which means no longer devoted to duty and the Qun)._

_That was interesting. I remember how utterly devoted Sten was to his Qun and his home customs. He made the Qunari sound very united and monolithic, but this event shows that perhaps they are not. Perhaps the Qunari custom of assigning roles from which one can never depart is not universally satisfying. It's all very well if one is an Arishok (commander), or a Sten (lieutenant), but perhaps those on the bottom of the heap do not find their roles particularly agreeable. A chink in the armor, as it were. There are possibilities there._

_On the other hand, the Tal-Vashoth also serve the Arishok's purpose, if that purpose is to create fear and uncertainty and weakness. Now people are more afraid than ever to travel the road along the Wounded Coast. _

_Do be kind to the poor Sintons. They've had a rotten time. And don't forget the five sovereigns!_

_Love to all, and most to you. I promise to be home as soon as possible._

_Ever your_

_Maude_

* * *

The letter was rather worrying. Loghain hoped that Maude would not get mixed up in some half-baked scheme to loot the Deep Roads—though it was exactly the sort of thing he could see her getting mixed up in, had she thought of it first. The rest of the letter was less alarming, and he would act on it at once. It was only too true that people who ate as much as Wardens needed a ready supply of meat for the table.

That very afternoon, the Sintons were paid their money, and settled into the servants' quarters, while the masons set about constructing a neat stone stone cottage and sheds for their use. It would take time to build up a proper flock, but the sooner they began, the better. Loghain decided to send Keenan, who had grown up on a farm, to buy what stock he could in Amaranthine and eastern Highever.

Loghain knew that he really should do some recruiting before winter, too. All very well to gather livestock, but what they needed were Wardens. Dragonslayer of Ferelden or not, he knew better than to show his face in the Circle of Magi or the Denerim Alienage. The Wardens could use another mage or two, but Maude was the only Warden who would be tolerated there. Loghain briefly pictured sending Anders—or Morrigan!—and laughed out loud.

If he and Maude did indeed make the suggested journey to Gwaren, he could do some recruiting there, and Maude might also be able to make use of her good relations with Keeper Lanaya. It would not be a bad idea to cement relations with the Dalish by including some of those fine archers among the Ferelden Wardens.

While he himself might not be an effective recruiter among the city elves, there was Telamon...

He liked the idea, thinking it over. The city elves would be impressed by Telamon. He could go to Denerim, and bring Telamon and Sigrun with him. There was a large population of surface dwarves; there were the elves of the Alienage; and of course any number of out-of-work mercenaries. A trip to Denerim would give him a look-in at Rhoswyn—and at Alistair and Anora, too, of course.

First, however, he would go to Amaranthine.

He did, the following day, taking Anders along. Anders knew the apostates in Amaranthine, and might have some luck there.

Bann Nathaniel put them up, and a steady stream of applicants made their way to the Keep's doors. After some pretty stringent testing, Loghain narrowed the warriors down to five: four experienced men, and one rangy, hungry-looking woman. Anders explained the lack of mage applicants as being due to their sensible caution about going anywhere too official. With that, Anders took himself off to the Crown and Lion for a day of drinking, and returned that evening with a scrawny, clever-eyed elf who gave the obvious false name of Sketch.

"He's pissed a lot of people off," Anders confided to Loghain. "He's out of options. He thinks he'll be safer with us than anywhere else, since there is currently no Blight and we have an isolated fortress for him to hide in. Don't worry about skills," he added. "The timid act is just that: he's done his share of fighting, that's clear enough."

"You know him from the Circle?"

"No. I don't know where he got his training, but he's capable enough. Maybe through the Mage Collective, or maybe his parents kept him hidden in an Alienage and an apostate trained him there. He's got some Healing skills, too, by the way."

Loghain was pleased by that. He hoped the elf would survive, and that they would have at least two or three more Wardens after the Joining. The success of the little jaunt to Amaranthine was crowned when he received yet another letter from Maude, just as he was departing for Soldier's Peak.

This letter, too, was accompanied by returning refugees: this time a woman and her two young and pretty daughters. At least Loghain _thought_ they might be pretty. The girls stared at the floor, and never met his eye. They had very pretty figures, certainly.

* * *

_18 Kingsway, Dragon 9:32_

_Dearest Loghain—_

_Do give this good woman, Mistress Bungley, five sovereigns and a place in our dairy as cheesemaker. When you have tasted what she can do, you will not regret it. With her are her two daughters, Loveday and Demelza. They are from West Hill, and have experience milking sheep as well as cows, so put them to work as soon as may be. A ship was taking hides to Amaranthine, and I wanted to write to you and send some more Fereldans home where they belonged!_

_I miss you very much, and hope you have not put me completely from your mind. I hope the puppies are thriving as they should, and that the craftsmen are not being too vexing._

_I am getting very tired of Kirkwall. Things are moving along as to the merchant princing I'm doing, but the negotiations are sometimes tiresome. I hosted a dinner for my potential buyers, It seemed a good idea to show them I was in no way poor or desperate, so I did it in fine style, and invited heaps of important or interesting or beautiful people. I use "and" rather than "or" because, alas, very few people are more than one of those. Viscount Dumar and his son consented to come, and seemed to have a pleasant time._

_I invited the amusing Varric Tethras, of course, and his brother. Bartrand is a shifty fellow, even for a dwarven merchant. He is not actually one of the consortium, since he is hoping to make his fortune in the Deep Roads. I would have said something to Varric about not trusting his brother an inch, but it's clear that he doesn't, so I held my peace._

_I arranged some entertainment—musicians and players and dancers and quite a good juggler. No puppeteers, though. One of the dancers had light fingers, but she was tactfully relieved of her acquisitions before her departure. I invited the Hawkes, who dressed decently for the occasion, and their friend Aveline Valen, the Captain of the City Guard._

_Do you know her? She was a lieutenant in the Hafter Company under Corvin Macrory. After Ostagar, she left the country with the Hawkes. One might say she was guarding them on their way, but "deserting" is, I think, the correct term. She does not entirely approve of you, except for the bit about saving the country. Twice. Since she does not entirely approve of you, I do not entirely approve of her. Anyway, the dinner was a great success._

_I realize now that I did not tell you about the earlier dinner with the Chantry powers. Perhaps I was trying to blot it from my memory, but it was interesting and you should know about it._

_Do you know that the Knight-Commander, by name Meredith, actually _murdered_ Viscount Threnhold, when he attempted to curb the power of the Chantry, which is indeed out of all control?_

_Meredith is an utter loon, and if I were in Ferelden and did not have thousands of sovereigns at stake I would off her faster than you can say "Orlesians suck arse." _

_Loghain, there are many potential threats to Ferelden. You and I have disagreed in the past as to which are the worst. You remain suspicious of Orlais—and I don't deny that they would gobble us up in a minute if they could. However, I do not think that Empress Celene will ever declare war outright. It has not been her way so far. After her departure, however, I think any successor might try to make a name for himself by his martial successes, and he very likely would look east._

_The darkspawn are a spent force for now, other than the bands that are still wandering. They grow fewer and fewer each month, and we are making good progress there. Unless we are very unlucky, and they find another of the Old Gods, Ferelden should be comparatively safe from them in our lifetimes._

_The Tevinter Empire is too distant, and too busy staving off the qunari to be a serious threat, at least militarily. They are not above the odd slaving raid, but I do not see them attacking if force, though I still wonder about that band of blood mages in Denerim, and if they were some sort of scouting expedition. Their slavers are active in Kirkwall, and do not limit themselves to elves._

_I am VERY concerned about the Qunari, Loghain. While they are also distant, they creep closer, and are a naval power. Now they are sitting across the Waking Sea from us, and as I said before, they are no doubt planning to strike at Kirkwall when the opportunity comes their way. They have _cannon,_ Loghain! These cannon can fire at longer range than our mages can cast spells. I feel strongly that somehow we must discover the secret of their "black powder!" No, my dearest, I won't try to infiltrate their compound—not with the little teyrn to consider—because it would be supremely dangerous. However, I think someone should, or I should someday, when the only person at risk is myself. We must fortify Denerim, Highever, and Amaranthine, Loghain. Gwaren I do not see as being a target, since their scouts have not penetrated to it. I think we need to be very careful about the qunari in Ferelden, even those who claim to be "Tal-Vashoth," or no longer following the precepts of the Qun. A good cover for a spy. I can see that tactically Ferelden would be very desirable from the Qunari point of view, and would position them favorably for an eventual invasion of Orlais. Sten was sent to Ferelden for more than one reason. I do realize that, and he as much as said that he expected the Qunari to attack us someday._

_The greatest danger to the security of Ferelden at the moment I believe to be the Chantry. That is how the Orlesians are going to strike at us, Loghain. The Chantry is in their capital and in their pocket. And, even if it were not, they are a foreign power, and immeasurably zealous and aggressive._

_Which brings me back to the odious and impressive Knight-Commander Meredith. I could take her, Loghain. She really needs killing._

_The Chantry loves to stir up fear of mages, but that is their clever ploy. An individual rogue mage is dangerous, of course: an abomination even more so. But they are dangerous on the individual level. There is no army of mages, preparing to swoop down and enslave Thedas. The Chantry is an organized threat, the Templars a genuine army: thousands of zealots in lockstep, whose leaders cynically use the fear of magic to increase their own power and to abrogate the rights of everyone else. Not only to abrogate rights: but to kill, openly and blatantly as they like. With "protectors" like these, who need fear what the mages could do? And they practice slavery openly in all the lands they control: for how else does one describe the Tranquil, those unfortunates bereft of will, emotion, and dignity, whose unpaid labor fills the Chantry's coffers?_

_We must take a long, hard look at the presence of the Chantry in Ferelden, and see that it grows no stronger. Would Fereldens lie down and take it if the Knight-Commander killed Alistair and Anora in cold blood to strengthen the power of the Chantry? For that is exactly what happened here in Kirkwall. I would prefer to think not, but they claim the authority of the Maker, and that counts for quite a bit with silly people, which, unfortunately, are generally in the majority of any population. I would urge Anora to allow no more new foundations, and no new templar strongholds in her plans for Denerim. That way lies her own destruction._

_On the other hand, we must do nothing overt at this time, for that way lies an Exalted March. I agree that at this time it would be a disaster, but I think it a real possibility in the future. A more aggressive Orlesian emperor might very likely find a pretext. There is a real nightmare: the power of Orlais and the Chantry combined. Maker knows the Chantry did enough harm to Ferelden during the Occupation!_

_If I were a Marcher, Meredith would be toast. As I am not, I shared a very fine dinner with her, and listened to her tiresome bigotry with limpid earnestness and many smiles. She regarded Ranger with amused disdain,, but did not notice it when he pissed on her the hem of her cloak. Ha! That's my good boy!_

_She uses a greatsword. I could be in, and her head off before she knew it. And Thedas would be the better for it._

_Ever your _

_Maude_

* * *

Loghain was not sure he agreed with her analysis in its entirety. His own opinion was that rogue mages could be far more dangerous than she allowed; and also that the Chantry as an institution was less dangerous than she feared. Yes, the Chantry hierarchy had collaborated with the Orlesians during the Occupation, but many brave priests and brothers had remained loyal to their country. Loghain himself would never forget the kindness and courage of Mother Ailis, who had shared all the privations and dangers of the little band of rebels led by Loghain's father Gareth. Apparently, Maude had never had such a figure in her life. She spoke fondly of the priest who had served at Highever, but that priest had not made a very great impression on Maude's character. Perhaps she had tried to tell Maude how to think or what to do, and that was always a waste of time with Maude.

Loghain felt rather uneasy at Maude's talk of stealing secrets from the Qunari. At least she seemed to realize that she must not risk the safety of their child. Yes, someday, they must get the secret of this "black powder." He would much prefer that Maude not try it.

He thought about it a little more. Perhaps, rather than trying to obtain the formula, if someone could put their hands on some of the_ powder_ itself, it might be possible to divine what was in it. It was certainly an idea, anyway. Anders was a clever fellow with potions and such-like. Perhaps he could make something of it.

Loghain brought himself up sharply. _ But someone else will have to steal it. Not Maude._

Still, there was much food for thought in the letter. The Qunari were dangerous, and he would discuss them with Anora and Alistair when he was in Denerim. He had received a subtle hint from Alistair's way of talking that the young man had not liked Sten very much. The word "creepy" had been used. That was good. That was useful. That showed that the boy was not so stupid and credulous as Loghain sometimes feared. The boy's instincts in the matter were sound, and should be encouraged.

And there would be Rhoswyn to cuddle. Being a grandfather was a very fine thing, after all.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Josie Lange, MsBarrows, Zute, Judy, Shakespira, Cloud1004, Jyggilag, karinfan123, JackOfBladesX, Psyche Sinclair, mutive, Guile, mille libri, Eva Galana, Lehni, , Tyanilth, and Juliafied._

_Next week, a chapter of Victory at Ostagar, I promise. The past few days have been difficult, with a very sad loss. I decided to post something that required less work.  
_

_To Silent Storm: I was not able to rely to your lengthy and intriguing review, because you have disabled the private messaging feature. You raised some very interesting issues, especially in regard to the Wardens' child. The effects will not be particularly visible, but they will certainly be there.  
_


	36. Beyond the Sea

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 36: Beyond the Sea**

They had three new Wardens. The elf mage, Sketch, had survived. Loghain wondered if there was something in mages that gave them special protection. The elf was a whiner and a bit of a tit, but magic in battle was a mighty force. Morrigan was certainly equal to dealing him. Or rather, she did not, but shunted him off to Anders, with a sneer.

"Will you at least train him to be a shape-shifter?" Loghain asked.

"Of what use is a mouse?" she shot back, casting a scathing look in Sketch's direction. "Anders can teach him. I shall watch the results with interest. 'Tis so very easy for such magic to go disastrously wrong..."

Morrigan's scorn aside, Loghain was pleased with the other two new Wardens as well. Osbeck was a big man, whose heavy maul was not simply for show. He was half Avvar, and his back, shoulders, and arms were flourished with impressive tattoos. His mother's tribe had had no use for the son of a Lowlander after her death. Footloose by nature, like many soldiers of fortune, he had served a number of Fereldan nobles before ending up in the Amaranthine City Guard. Loghain remembered him from the battle in the streets as one of the guardsmen who had been putting up a solid fight while most of his officers had run screaming.

"Might as well be a Warden," Osbeck shrugged. "At least I'll be fighting. Better than garrison duty, I reckon. I like the Bann all right, but a man wants his life to have meant something, in the end."

The other man was a quick and lean knife-fighter, who used the name Brangel. He offered little personal history. Loghain guessed that he had been a mercenary or worse. Probably a bandit in the lean times, he supposed. It hardly mattered. Loghain had been a bandit himself, once. As Maude said, being a Warden paid for all. Brangel was very, very good with his blades, though Loghain wondered how well that style would work against darkspawn.

The six original recuits had been taken on a well-prepared expedition to map out the link to the Deep Roads from Drake's Fall. Maude was not there to be distressed by memories of the Mother, who indeed was now only scattered ash. The broodmother matter had dried up and was crumbling away. It was still a good place for training, for they found darkspawn there after some days: way down, down, in the Deep Roads.

There followed a stiff and desperate fight, for they had come upon a large band, with a pair of very powerful alpha genlocks. One of their recruits was killed, and they would have lost Oghren and Telamon without Anders' healing skills. The colony was destroyed and the darkspawn blood brought back to the surface for the Joining ritual.

Loghain had seen a failed Joining before, when poor Ser Mhairi choked out her last moments in agony on the stones of Vigil's Keep. He could not say it was any better at Soldier's Peak, but at least the dead could be given due dignity. Instead of being hustled away in secret like a shameful bundle of contraband, there could be a proper pyre, and then kindly disposal of the ashes in the cinerarium in Maude's rose garden. Loghain would not soon forget the last recruit's face, the young woman named Challa, who looked sadly at the cup of darkspawn blood, as if seeing her death in it. The young woman had been deeply depressed by her experience in the Deep Roads. She had not bothered with last words or even trying to put up a fight. She had simply accepted the cup and drunk deeply from it, as if relieved to have it all over at last. Loghain noted the names into the Warden rolls, with the traditional mark for those who Joined and perished on the same day.

After the new recruits awakened, it was time to give them the facts of Warden life. The three of them took it surprisingly well.

Osbeck shrugged, "It's not like I wanted to live forever."

That done, Loghain was off with Telamon and Sigrun to Denerim, for a bit of recruiting, and a bit of grandfathering, and most importantly, to warn Anora and Alistair about the Qunari.

* * *

His visit to Denerim was, alas, not perfectly satisfactory.

His little Princess Rhoswyn _was,_ of course: a wonderful child, healthy and thriving. Her nursery was warm, clean, and comfortable to the point of luxury. Her nurse, Luana Nocking, was a good and pretty woman, and obviously devoted to her charge. Her parents were fond of Rhoswyn, too, and dutifully made time to see her nearly every day.

Alistair was very affectionate when the child was brought to see them in the Private Sitting Room, talking nonsense and making faces. Rhoswyn seemed to like the silliness well enough. Anora was far more serious, and made a point of speaking properly to the child when it was her turn to hold her. Loghain puzzled over it. She certainly not the same sort of mother Celia had been. Anora was busy; yes, Loghain understood that. He could not fault her for putting the needs of the nation first. In fact, he guiltily reflected, she was exactly the same kind of mother that he had been a father. Whether that was adequate parenting, he was not so sure.

Idly, he remarked, "You'll probably find her more companionable when she's walking and talking."

"Very likely," Anora said, peering suspiciously at him to detect a possible criticism. "I shall certainly oversee her education with great attention. For now, she does nothing but eat and sleep and soil her linen."

The nurse, sitting discreetly in a corner, looked at the floor, her face carefully blank. Anora did not notice it, but Loghain did. He wondered if the woman ever had the opportunity to see her own children, left behind when Mistress Nocking was granted the well-paid post of Royal Nurse.

"Oh, she does_ lots_ of things!" Alistair protested, in a ridiculously high, sing-song voice. "She does lots and lots of clever things! She makes bubbles and spits up on Daddy's velvet doublet! She cries and screams when the world is all wrong, and she's learned to melt Daddy's heart with her cute little smile." His voice a hint more normal, he said to Loghain. "When I look at her now, she looks back. I mean _really_ looks back. I know she's sees me and knows who I am!"

"She knows," Anora said repressively, "that you are the man with the silly voice."

Alistair shrugged, not at all put out, and made more ridiculous faces at the baby.

They seemed happy enough as a couple. They jogged on well enough, at least. Alistair was the handsome, affable face of the Crown; while Anora was its razor-sharp mind. Loghain could see that they had become friends, of a sort. Too soon, Rhoswyn began to fuss and fidget and the nurse to look anxious. Anora signed to the woman to take the child away. The three of them were left sitting by the fire, and nursery talk was forgotten.

"I simply don't see, Father, where the money would come from to improve harbor defenses at this time," Anora said, spreading her hands for emphasis. "The tax revenues will be low for years. Maintaining essential services and paying the army takes nearly everything that is coming in. We do have the money from the Arling now, but that was needed to rebuild the bridges and repair the walls and gatehouse. I'm having to finance the University from my private funds."

Loghain did not want to hear about that ridiculous University, and had prepared some counter arguments. He even had diagrams and cost estimates, carefully drawn up beforehand.

"A simple boom that could drawn up to block the mouth of the River Drakon would not be prohibitively expense," he pointed out. "Then a small fort built out from the north end of the walls could use ballistae and catapults to launch attacks on an invading fleet..."

He knew that Alistair would never agree with him about anything, especially if Anora had already declared herself against it.

Sure enough, Alistair shook his head. "It's just that one Qunari ship that was wrecked, wasn't it? I mean, it could have been by accident. I thought Maude _liked_ the Qunari!"

"Maude liked _Sten,"_ Loghain replied, trying to keep his temper. "The idea of a large number of Qunari occupying Ferelden, perhaps not so much." He added, "And Maude now recognizes that Sten was in Ferelden as part of a scouting party. The Qunari are aggressive by nature and by philosophy."

"Perhaps, Father," Anora said, "we should wait and see what happens in Kirkwall. These things take time. Perhaps a relief vessel will come, or perhaps not. Perhaps this Arishok will weary of waiting and purchase or build a new ship, and then depart. I agree that it should be watched closely. I have thought for some time that we ought to have reliable agents in neighboring cities. Kirkwall will certainly be a first priority."

"That's a great idea!" Alistair agreed, gazing at her in admiration. "We'll have somebody there to write to us. Once Maude gets back, she can tell us the latest, and we can take it from there..."

Anora smiled on her husband, and Loghain looked away, irritated by the sight of so much conjugal bliss and false confidence. Perhaps he would have better luck with Fergus and Delilah.

His Wardens had been a bit more successful in their own endeavors. Sigrun was bringing back two young dwarves, who had been impressed by the prowess of their Orzammar brethren. It had, however, been made perfectly clear to them that they would never be welcome in the dwarven kingdom, have long since lost their "stone sense," whatever that was. They had some skill with their axes. If they survived the Joining, then it was all to the good.

Telamon had something of an adventure in the Alienage. He had visited Alienages before, and knew what to expect. In his opinion, given to Loghain later and in private, the Denerim Alienage was far from the worst he had seen, especially since there had been so much rebuilding since the darkspawn invasion. He did not have any recruits at this time, but predicted that in six months, they would have several.

"I should return with you to Denerim for the spring Landsmeet," he said. "I think I gave them quite a bit to think about. Also, some practice weapons."

Of course, the Alienage elves had never met anyone like Telamon: a warrior-scholar in fine armor; well-spoken and well-mannered. The hahren had welcomed him with real pleasure, it was clear. The folk of the Alienage had wanted to see him and talk to him. The young women had tried to get their parents to arrange marriages with him. To Loghain's surprise, Telamon did not seem entirely averse to the idea.

"It might be very pleasant to have a wife up at the Peak. While Grey Wardens do not have many children, it might still be possible. Seen in certain lights, it might even be said to be my duty to marry and continue the elven race. There are some lovely young women in the Alienage."

"Just as you like, of course," Loghain replied, somewhat astonished. Thinking again, he was not so astonished. He had Maude, after all—or would, someday, when she came home from all her ridiculous gallivanting. It as only natural that his Wardens would want wives—or even husbands. And if Anders could do for Telamon what he had done for Loghain himself, they might indeed hear the patter of little elven feet.

* * *

A pleasant meal with his Wardens was interrupted by a summons from Anora.

"Beg pardon, Warden-Commander-my-lord," said the servant, "but the Queen requests you come quickly."

A thousand horrible images slashed like blades through his imagination. "Is she all right? And the Princess?"

"Yes, my lord! Her Majesty is in the Little Audience Chamber, concerned about some news or other..."

That was better, and Loghain's heart stopped racing as he strode through the passage to the Palace proper. He nearly ran into Alistair, clearly not yet changed for his own supper. He smelled of the kennels.

"What's wrong?" they asked each other. Alistair reddened and chuckled, and Loghain snarled in annoyance.

Anora was not alone in the room. A red-haired knight stood by a window, while Anora pored over the letter he had brought.

"Ser Perth!" Alistair called out, smiling.

"Your Majesty." The knight bowed ceremoniously. In a formal, rather stilted way, he said, "I bring grave tidings from Redcliffe. Arl Eamon's letter is already in Her Majesty's hands. I have also brought a personal message from Bann Teagan for you."

"Teagan?" Alistair asked, confused. Quickly, he took the proffered parchment and ripped open the seal. "Oh..."

"Thank you, Ser Perth," Anora said in her cool voice. "The seneschal shall see to your comfort while you are with us. We shall, of course, have a reply ready for you by tomorrow. We thank you for your speed and courtesy."

When the knight had left the room, Anora said crisply. "Arl Eamon has his new heir to the Arling of Redcliffe. A daughter was born to him on the third. Her name is Rowan, and he has asked me to be her godmother. I shall agree, of course, all the more so because of the circumstances..."

"Arlessa Isolde is _dead!"_ Alistair burst out, waving Teagan's letter. "She died in childbirth!"

Teagan's letter was far more informative than Eamon's strained and formal epistle.

* * *

_—and as the Arlessa was a most devout and pious woman, she refused any suggestion of magical healing. She feared its possible influence on this child, and declared that she would rather die than by her own weakness and cowardice cause another child of hers to be cursed with magic. The bleeding could not be stopped, and her fever waxed hotter in the days after the birth. Her sufferings, I regret to say, were great; though at the end she was no longer in her right mind, and appeared to think she was a young girl at home with her mother and father. It seemed to comfort her, though it pained my brother greatly that she did not recognize him. She died surrounded by her family, and attended by the Revered Mother. A letter has been sent to Connor at the Circle. I hope to visit him in the future._

_Habren was greatly upset by the Arlessa's last days: all the more so as she is apparently with child herself. We had come to witness the birth, of course, and I am glad I was there for my brother. The blood was too much for Habren, and she screamed and swooned. Afterward, she could hardly bear to bid farewell to the Arlessa's remains, and needed to be supported and assisted when poor Isolde was given to the fire. Now she has demanded that I summon the Queen's Healer, Warden Anders, at once. I explained that he was not in Denerim, but has gone north to Soldier's Peak with the other Wardens, and was not in any way subject to my authority. This information made her hysterical, and she has begged me to petition the Circle for the assignment of a Healer to Rainesfere. I have done so, but there has as yet been no response. Obviously, I cannot leave my brother at this time. We shall come to Denerim for the spring Landsmeet and hope to have the child's ceremonial naming then. _

_Little Rowan seems strong and likely to live. I pray that she does, for losing her would be too much for Eamon to bear. Urge Her Majesty to consent to be her sponsor, I pray you, Alistair: it would comfort Eamon greatly. He spends much of his time at his child's cradle, fearful of those evils that can carry a tiny babe away in the blink of an eye..._

* * *

There was a long silence. Loghain had disliked the woman, but no man worthy of the name would gloat at a woman's death in childbirth. At her age, she had been a fool to refuse the aid of magic.

"I would have sent Anders to her, had she asked," Loghain finally said. "It is a heavy thing for the child to be without her mother."

Rowan. Rowan Guerrin. There was now another Rowan Guerrin in the world. The very name made Loghain's heart beat faster. A surge of nostalgia for what had been— and what might have been— made his throat constrict painfully. Rowan Guerrin. He would like to see her.

"Rowan," Anora considered. "How proper to remember Queen Rowan, Arl Eamon's sister. Such a lovely name. I do hope the child thrives. She would be such a suitable companion for our Rhoswyn. Almost exactly of an age! They might even be friends. I shall write immediately and give our condolences."

Alistair was quite shocked at the letter and sat staring at the fire for some time. "Poor Isolde! I wouldn't wish that on anyone. That poor little girl! Growing up without a mother! No wonder Lady Habren was frightened. It must have been awful. I hope the Circle sends someone to them right away. I should go and see Arl Eamon..."

Loghain saw Anora's brief grimace. It was mastered, and his daughter said quietly. "I suppose you ought to. It would be very appropriate. Take my letter and my consent to be the child's godmother. We must send something very nice as a gift to little Rowan, as well."

* * *

After all that drama, Loghain rode back to Soldier's Peak, half-hoping that Maude will already be there to welcome him home. A vain hope. Indeed, there was not even a letter awaiting him, which was absolutely alarming. Days passed, and no letter came.

Or at least, no letter from Maude. Instead, he received a very friendly and informative letter from the Warden-Commander of Nevarra, and almost equally useful letter from the Warden-Commander of Tantervale. A brief missive from Antiva gave some details of the lack of darkspawn activity in that country over the past year. His campaign by correspondence was bearing fruit.

But they were nearly to the middle of Harvestmere, and there was still no letter from Maude. Dread soured Loghain's temper to the point that Morrigan told him he could take himself off beyond the Waking Sea, if he could not speak civilly to her.

Only Topaz understood him, her brown eyes soft and sympathetic. The puppies were doing very well: one of them, Madcap, had taken to sitting with Telamon in the library, and then following the elf out to the practice yard. It was too early to see if it was a true imprint, but Telamon was all right, and would take proper care of his mabari.

He rode to Breakers Cove one more, glaring at the insolent sea. He had never thought to do it, but if necessary, he would hire one of the wretched boats to take him to Kirkwall, and see what the City of Chains had done to Maude. She was with child. She might be ill. Perhaps she had taken on too much in her fragile state. Perhaps she was a captive, and not up to hacking her way free. If one more day passed without word from her...

His affairs were put in order, and he was on the point of making travel arrangements, when his couriers from Amaranthine galloped up the tunnels to the Peak, bearing an ill-favored specimen whose trembling hand held a letter...

* * *

_2 Harvestmere, Dragon 9:32_

_This letter is brought to you by Dabney Prynne, who is delighted to go home to Ferelden, and has been promised three sovereigns. He is from White River, and is returning there. The three sovereigns are to make his wife happy to see him again._

_First of all. I am perfectly fine. I am sorry I could not come home when I received your letter, but events intervened. __I AM FINE.__ So anything you read in this letter should not disturb you unduly. I shall be home a few days after this letter._

_The consortium has come through, and the Wardens look to be ten thousand sovereigns richer. The delay comes from the dwarves having to actually scout up that much gold, rather than fobbing me off with a Letter of Credit, which I was assured would be just as good as gold anywhere in the civilized world. Ha!_

_I pointed out to them that I am from __FERELDEN__, and practically nobody there even knows what a Letter of Credit is. They sulked, but I had the upper hand…especially after giving a few of them a little nudge. You know what I mean._

_So I am victorious, and was all set to return home as soon as the gold was delivered, when an unrelated crisis blew up that I had to deal with._

_I told you about that Hawke family, and how I was trying to assist them. I've had a few amusing adventures with the brother and sister and their interesting friends. One of them involved the Qunari and was __very__ interesting indeed. Certain details I shall give in person, but basically I went with them to the sea shore hard by the city-the place that is called the Wounded Coast. We had some errands there, among them ridding the coast road of renegade Qunari, more properly called Tal-Vashoth. Naturally, we were successful. _

_I got to know more of the Hawkes' friends on our little jaunt. Two of them were elves. One, Merrill, is an exquisitely pretty mage, formerly of the Dalish, who left her clan due to some unspecified difficulty. She is now exploring life in the Alienage, and very disagreeable she finds it. She is a sweet, innocent creature, but a powerful spellcaster._

_The other elf is even more extraordinary. Have you ever seen an elf wield a two-handed blade? I now have, and was very impressed. The elf's name is Fenris, and he hails from the Tevinter Imperium. Well, "escaped" is more accurate than "hails." He was the slave of a magister, and has little memory of his life there, due to the various enchantments of his former master. The enchantments were remarkable, and have caused Fenris to hate mages even more than you hate Orlesians._

_Really._

_Think about it._

_Fenris is spectacular with that greatsword of his. Ordinarily the weapon would not be appropriate to the size and strength of an elf, but Fenris is unusually tall for an elf—above the height of an average human male— and his master's rituals have given him exceptional strength and some unique abilities. (They are actually magical fighting abilities, but I cannot say that in Fenris' hearing, for hearing that he is magical would drive him mad with rage). They were extremely painful rituals, evidently, which tattooed lyrium into his skin. The effect is eerie but beautiful, and Zevran would be jealous. _

_He fought so well that I considered -–very seriously- conscripting him, but decided against it. He is so embittered by his years of slavery and torture that any form of compulsion would be odious to him. He would likely lash out or simply run away. If he did not, he would be very, very difficult to deal with. Only the strongest bonds of friendship or love could hold him, and I cannot offer him those. Reluctantly, I put aside the idea of using that dose of Avernus' potion I carry with me at all times. A pity, for in addition to his superb fighting skills, he has a most beautiful and refined speaking voice. Listening to it is a pleasure. I suspect, that were his heart in it, he would sing very well._

_At any rate, our business on the Wounded Coast was conducted successfully, and I went with the Hawkes to be presented to the Arishok. That was also a very interesting experience._

_He hates being in Kirkwall. That much is clear. He loathes and despises the place so much that I suspect he would like to erase it completely from the world,, for all that the Qunari claim never to waste anything. I discovered that Fenris speaks Qunari, and my own few Qunari tags proved useful._

_And the Arishok knew who I was! That was rather exciting. Sten had apparently spread my fame to his people as a "matchless warrior." I assumed my most dignified mien, since Qunari are deplorably lacking in anything resembling a sense of humor._

_The Arishok questioned me, wondering if I was not horrified and disgusted by the disorganization of Kirkwall, and if they would not all be better being assigned roles in accordance with the Qun. I refrained from remarking on how parochial all people—including the Qunari—are in thinking their own home customs the best. Instead, I replied that I myself, as a Warden, had an assigned role of supreme importance and uncompromising demands. He seemed to respect that, as he respects Hawke's prowess and Fenris' good manners, but he considers the rest of Kirkwall a basket case. _

_Personally, I agree with him, though obviously for reasons of my own. Kirkwall is a mess and needs a real Viscount to put it in order. It's quite beyond Dumar's abilities. If I had been exiled here after the Blight, I can assure you that things would already be quite different. However, this is not my home, and Ferelden, Gwaren, and the Wardens are quite enough to engage my time and energy. _

_I did want to leave my friends the better for knowing me, however. The night before I planned to leave I had a nice talk with Viscount Dumar. He may be on the rack between the Chantry and the Qunari, but there are still things he can do in his own city. He signed the transfer of title of the Amell mansion to Adam Hawke, whom his son looks upon as a friend, the transfer to be effective the day I vacate it. In addition, he produced a signed appointment for Adam to serve as his son's Gentleman of the Bedchamber._

_Believe me, that is a perfectly respectable title in Kirkwall! It doesn't mean what you think it means. Kirkwall, for all its hatred of Orlais, still keeps a few of its customs, and among them is the custom of people of noble birth waiting on higher-ranking people of noble birth. Sort of as if I were Anora's personal maid. I know, I know: but it's the custom __HERE__. Anyway, what a Gentleman of the Bedchamber would be in Adam Hawke's case would be Saemus Dumar's personal bodyguard and companion—someone who is very reliable with a sword, but who is acceptable in polite society as well. Something like the dwarven idea of a second, I suppose. The post would be quite remunerative, believe it or not, and would keep Mamma and Bethany in fine style in their charming home._

_So Ranger and I paid a call on the "hovel' in Lowtown to give the family the good news. I arrived, and was greeted by Widow Hawke's anguished wails. Those two idiots had gone off to the Deep Roads anyway. I had not given them the maps, but I had shown them to them, and they had made their own maps from memory. What a catastrophe! Mamma was only a little comforted by news of my good services. Mostly, it was "Oh, Grey Warden! Save my children!"_

_All right, you ask: why did I show them the maps in the first place? The answer, obviously, is that they had information that I wanted, and I had to bargain with them._

_What information, you ask? My dearest, sit down when you read this. It is very alarming._

_I learned how the Hawkes left Ferelden one night. The two sons (for there was another son, who was killed by darkspawn), were in the Lothering irregulars. After the battle, they dashed home to their family (perfectly understandable, as Ceorlic's officers had already departed), and they gathered up Mistress Hawke and Bethany. They joined forces with that soldier who is now the captain of the city guard and her husband, and made a run for it. Not fast enough, as Adam tells me. They were surrounded by darkspawn, and as good as dead (the brother was indeed dead, as was the guardswoman's husband, who was one of those married Templars). Quite suddenly they were rescued, just as in the old legends, but not by a hero._

_FLEMETH__ arrived, in her dragon guise, and slew or drove off the darkspawn. Then she transformed back into human shape and spoke to them._

_Oh, yes, it was Flemeth, all right. Though her appearance sounds handsomer than anything she showed me, the manner of speech they describe is all too familiar. This must have happened after Alistair, Morrigan and I left Flemeth behind, and had departed from Lothering itself. I'm surprised the Hawkes were so slow off the mark, but there were a lot of people dawdling in Lothering when they should have been running._

_Anyway, so Flemeth arrived, and saved them, and offered to take them to Gwaren, where they could find a ship bound for Kirkwall. _

_In exchange for this very great service, she asked only the smallest of favors in return: that they take a certain amulet with them, and give it to a Dalish Keeper named Marethari whom they would find in the mountains hard by Kirkwall. Obviously, they agreed._

_So they arrived in Kirkwall, and at length, true to their word—the idiots—they found the Dalish and this Marethari. She knew what they were there for apparently, and on a mountaintop the little mage Merrill performed a ritual with the amulet, and Flemeth appeared. Apparently, she had anticipated the possibility of being killed, and this amulet contained enough of her essence for her to be reborn. She then transformed back into a dragon and flew away. The Hawkes were mightily impressed._

_Very disturbing, I say; and I'm quite sure Morrigan would put it even more strongly. Flemeth is thus definitely alive and on the loose. We can only hope she stays on the north side of the Waking Sea. I have no idea if a High Dragon can fly across or not. Morrigan and I once speculated if Flemeth was entirely human, and based on some cryptic comments to the Hawkes, I think it's fairly clear that she is…not at all. _

_To get this story out of them, I did indeed show them that part of the Deep Roads near Kirkwall, emphasizing the extreme danger of the place. I thought I was persuasive, and perhaps I did persuade young Bethany. Adam let me think he was convinced, but I now realize that he is as difficult to work my wiles upon as you._

_So Mamma was screeching and wailing that she was a Dead Woman, and a Dried Husk, and a Used-up Gourd. One must respect a mother's feelings, and I said I'd do what I could. The Hawkes had gone with their friends, including the dwarf Varric and the fair Isabela, both of whom are useful in a fight, but who have no experience of the Deep Roads. They had not even taken Adam's mabari, instead leaving the dog to protect their mother._

_I had to leave quickly, and of course I had Valentine, Kain, Darrow, and darling Ranger. Captain Aveline (whom I thought a pompous sort, considering that she is a deserter from the Ferelden Army) did not feel she could abandon her duty, but Merrill heard of the situation and joined us, as did Fenris. _

_It was very difficult to get him to come along when he saw that Merrill was to be of the party, but I leaned on him with every bit of power I possess. He grudgingly agreed, and we hastened off after Widow Hawke's lost chicks. I took a dirty sock of Adam's, and Ranger had no trouble tracking them at all. And of course, I had the maps._

_The Deep Roads around Kirkwall are interesting, and not like the thaigs around Orzammar at all. The style is very different. Anyway, you know about the Deep Roads and fighting darkspawn and I shall not bore you with the details. We found that the Hawkes and their friends had been abandoned by Varric's greedy older brother, Bartrand. and that was dealt with, but then I had to find the Hawkes._

_They had actually done very well, and found some remarkable loot, including a grotesque idol fashioned of—believe it or not—RED lyrium. Bartrand had trapped them in a thaig after stealing the idol. Ranger growled at the thing, and refused to permit me to keep it. Since he has never forbidden me loot before, I took his warning seriously. I found a vertical mineshaft and dropped the offending object down it. Bartrand was completely off his head, and threw himself down the shaft after it. Not his best idea, as he was decapitated in the course of the fall. All very sad, I suppose._

_After Bartrand's sticky end, I eventually tracked—what am I saying? RANGER tracked Adam down. He and his companions had come upon the old treasury and were weighed down with gold. So it was quite a success, from their point of view, other than needing a bit of rescuing._

_Except that darkspawn carry disease. I arrived to find Adam, Varric, and Isabela knocked about but basically all right. Bethany, however, was infected with the Taint, and clearly dying. I had to make a quick decision._

_Had I intended to conscript either of the Hawkes, Adam would have been my choice, for he's a clever and ruthless lad, and a fine swordsman. I would have been willing to bet my mother's fur cloak that he would survive the Joining. Bethany, young and gentle as she is, I would not have considered._

_However, it was conscript her or give her a merciful death. At that, while failing the Joining looks awful, I'm not so sure it's really worse than a slit throat, so I told them that the only possible cure was becoming a Grey Warden, and she was so far gone that it might not work. I made them move away into another chamber, and I gave it a go._

_She survived. I was a bit surprised, but quite pleased, as you can imagine. So I am bringing home another mage for the Wardens. I'm sure that Morrigan would like to have an apprentice of her own—or what did Avernus call them? Acolytes? Yes, tell Morrigan I am bringing her her very own acolyte back from Kirkwall for her to tyrannize over. She should enjoy that, and Bethany seems a quick study and likely to do well. Our Warden lads all approve of her and are glad to have her as a sister._

_So back to Kirkwall we went, and gave Widow Hawke the good and the bad news. I explained that Bethany was a Grey Warden now, and would return with me to Ferelden. To emphasize that, I had her join me in the Hightown house, and installed her in one of the lovely upstairs rooms. The Widow and Adam will have them soon enough._

_Of course the Widow wailed, though not quite as much as I had expected. Adam comforted his mother, pointing out that Bethany need never fear the Chantry again. The Widow agreed, and added that she was happy that Bethany would be associating with the very noblest in Ferelden—meaning me. Which is true._

_Once we were back in the house and could speak privately, Bethany wept, missing her family, but really distressed by what she perceived as their relief in having got rid of her._

"_They're the ones who never need fear the Chantry again. I've been such a burden to them! Our family has had to be so very, very careful all these years, and all because of me! Now Adam and Mother can live the life they want and deserve, and they don't have to worry about the Templars breaking down the door. They're glad I'm gone."_

_I did my best to calm her, and I said that while that might be a little of what her family was feeling—and I did not want to argue the point, since it would be only too human for them to feel that way—Adam and her Mother also were very sad to lose her, and that they obviously did love her. Furthermore, they were just being sensible, because being a Grey Warden was actually a very good thing for her. She would be able to develop and use her wonderful abilities without fear or disguise for the good of all Thedas. And furthermore, she would have a lovely room of her own in the mage's tower of Soldier's Peak and a stipend, and could write to her family as often as she liked. _

_After all the hurly-burly, I need a bit of time to get all my affairs in order. The dwarves are delivering the gold tomorrow. I hope to be home within a sevenday, and as you have read, not alone._

_Ever your_

_Maude_

* * *

"Riders in the Tunnels!"

Loghain heard the shout, out on the curtain wall, arguing with Voldrik Glavonak about crenellation size. A hope flared in his heart. There had been no word of storms in the Waking Sea…

There she was, bright as sun on the snow of the Coast Mountains, riding possibly the finest horse Loghain had ever seen. Beside her on a grey palfrey was a young girl with dark hair, looking about her rather uncertainly. Maude leaned over to smile and gossip. The girl smiled back. She was pretty, Loghain noted, and did not look obviously like a mage. Loghain, dwarves and fortifications forgotten, quickly descended the fighting steps and made his way to the gate.

A ginger cat dashed out into the courtyard, paused a split-second, and then darted under a woodpile. Morrigan, black hair unbound, followed a moment later, and shot a cantrip after the fleeing cat. She glared up at Loghain, and shielded her eyes with a hand against the sun.

"Is that Maude at last?"

It was, and Morrigan was clearly glad to see her, though unwilling to admit it. She had been as testy as Loghain lately, as indicated by her blow up with Anders. Perhaps she needed some fighting to work out her temper. She had not taken the news of Flemeth's resurrection at all well.

She saw the young girl riding by Maude, and smirked. Loghain was heartily glad he would never face being her "acolyte."

Everyone was coming out to see Maude, in triumph, leading her Wardens and her guards and her servants and a stout wagon pulled by two oxen. Mistress Woolsey had a little notebook, already prepared to start totaling the newly-won treasure.

"Well met, Grey Wardens!" Maude shouted, and the courtyard cheered. Loghain felt rather like cheering himself.

Instead, he strode to her horse and lifted her down, kissing her soundly, ignoring Morrigan's rolled eyes. Anders was back in human form and coming forward, eyes and wand assessing his patient. Ranger barked excitedly, glad to be home.

As soon as her feet touched the ground and she caught her breath, Maude was introducing their new Warden and telling Loghain of her latest adventures.

"Warden-Commander, this is Bethany, our little sister. I told you that you don't bow to him, Bethany! Morrigan, be nice, and you won't regret it… Yes, this is Morrigan, the Senior Mage Warden. She will have charge of your training, and you're very lucky, for she's the best mage anywhere! This is Anders, our brilliant Healer! You'll be introduced to everyone in due course."

Valentine, cheerful and handsome, was leading a string of excellent horses. Loghain nodded to him, very pleased at the acquisition. He took a moment to assess the stallion Maude was riding. Perfect conformation, noble head, strong—everything he could hope for. The horse fixed Loghain with dark and intelligent eyes, and Loghain, not ordinarily one for flights of imagination, could foresee a long line of first-rate riding horses. He reached out to stroke the sleek black coat.

"He's magnificent."

"Yes, he is," Maude said with satisfaction. "Loghain, meet Shadow. The Antivan horsedealer named him Sciagurato, but Shadow didn't like that name. He's a very intelligent fellow, and helped me get him at a good price. He had something of a bad reputation, but I explained to him that I was going to get him out of Kirkwall and off to a land beyond the sea where he could run as much as he liked and meet lots of lovely mares. He's a pure Antivan barb, but he understands the King's Tongue perfectly well. Ranger vouched for me, and we all agreed Shadow would be better off in Ferelden."

Loghain shook his head at all this fantasy. Anders winked at him. Morrigan merely peered at the horse with great interest. Darrow and Kain were coming up to salute.

"Warden-Commander. Your lady is safe and sound. Ser!"

"As ordered! Ser!"

Maude beamed at everyone, and said, "Presents for everyone from Kirkwall, and heaps of gold for the treasury!"

"Might I have my present now?" Anders teased, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"No, you may not! Warden-Commander first, and in due course, because the presents are under the meal sacks to guard them. At dinner. I want to get the coin locked away and Bethany settled in and have a moment to talk to Loghain…"

"Bethany shall come with me, then," Morrigan commanded. Loghain wondered if she would treat the poor girl as Flemeth had treated her. Surely Maude would prevent that. Still, the girl's trunk was unloaded and carried behind the two women as they went to the Mage's Tower. The Wardens and the crowd melted away. Mistress Woolsey gathered a group of workmen to carry the heavy chests to the treasury. Anders seemed inclined to follow Morrigan, when Maude caught him by the sleeve.

"A word of advice, Anders," Maude whispered. "Don't even _think _of flirting with that little girl. Really."

Anders sighed, obviously regretting the opportunity to charm yet another female. "I suppose. She'd end up dead, and I'd end up gelded, and you'd probably only scold Morrigan." He shot her a grin, and sloped off, back to the Tower.

"Not so little, really," Loghain remarked, cocking his head.

"She's a year younger than I was when I was conscripted, and I was much too young. It's a shame it had to happen the way it did, but she seems in fairly good spirits, considering. She had time to get used to her separation from her family, and it was done somewhat gradually, so I think she'll be fine. And she can kill darkspawn like nobody's business, so it's all good. She can kill Templars and priests, too," she said lowering her voice, "which was lucky for me."

"What do you mean? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm all right and the Little Teyrn is fine. A day before my departure, the Chantry—meaning Meredith and her toadies—tried to use me for their own ends. It's a long story, and involves a Qunari _Saarebas_—that means 'mage' in their tongue—and what they wanted was for me to be murdered and to use the murder of a distinguished foreign guest as an excuse to attack the Qunari. Idiots. I told that bitch Sister Petrice that they didn't need an excuse. If they wanted to attack them, then they should get to it, but Maker fuck it if I was going to be used like that. So I killed the Qunari and I killed Petrice and her Templar, too. Very neatly done, if I say so myself. Nobody's even likely to find the bodies. Meredith will be very puzzled."

Loghain kicked at a rock. "Maude, I am never letting you out of my sight again!"

"Sounds fine to me," she laughed. "How about letting me _into_ your sight in private?"

"As soon as we get this lovely big fellow to the stable. First things first."

The horses were treated like the precious jewels they were; the crates; sacks and trunks were bestowed appropriately; a prize Vimmark ram was given into the care of the awed Sintons. Maude had brought some people with her, too: some artisans who had to be lodged and settled. When at last Loghain had Maude to himself in the privacy of their very own bedchamber, they were both too impatient to stand on ceremony, and neither of them bothered to remove their boots.

Their clothes were torn off, and Maude's smalls ended up somewhere near the chessboard. Loghain tripped over the rug and they fell together onto the bed, already one. He had missed her, missed her; and could not stop even when in this ridiculously awkward position, Instead he pressed on and on until she was crying out, over and over again. Bliss rushed through him into a single point of perfection, and he was done.

As they caught their breath, Maude gave him a warm and thrilling kiss, and began putting herself in enough order to get under the covers of their elegant bed. She tugged off her boots, and then turned and gave him a look of triumphant mischief.

"One present before we meet the others, Loghain."

She pawed through her trunks, while Loghain drew off his own boots and stretched out onto the bed, enjoying the view of her smooth and muscular backside. He had just about decided to go over there and make something of it, when she came racing back, waving a disreputable leather pouch.

Maude scrambled onto the bed, and then carefully loosened the drawstring. "Guess what this is!"

Loghain scowled at her quizzically. In the bag was a coarse black powder "More Ashes of Andraste? Or Maferath?" He wrinkled his nose. "It stinks."

Then his mind clicked. Coarse. Black. Powder.

"This is _it?_ The Qunari Black Powder?"

"Yes! What they call _gaatlok_. I scrounged it from the campsites of the Tal-Vashoth we killed on the Wounded Coast. Everybody else was looking for coin. It doesn't look like much, but altogether I got enough that maybe we can figure out what it is. Some of it must be charcoal, but I don't know what makes it stink like that."

Loghain took a small pinch of the powder, crumbling it carefully, and then smelling his fingers. "It smells something like rotten eggs."

"And that's what everyone says it smells like when the smoke from the qunari cannon fills the air! Rotten eggs! Let me show you something. I've been experimenting."

Loghain did not much like the sound of that, but Maude pulled out a shallow silver bowl and sprinkled a little of the powder at the bottom. Striking a flint she tossed a bit of flaming tinder into the bowl. The powder sizzled up, sparking and fizzing. Loghain frowned. That was not was he was expecting.

"Wait!" Maude said, bouncing about rather delightfully. "It does something different when it's enclosed!"

She produced a tube of heavy parchment, with one end sealed. She poured in a little powder and stuffed a rag into the tube. Then, eyes bright and excited, she tossed it into the fireplace.

A muffled _bang! _startled Loghain in spite of himself. The smell of rotten eggs filled the room.

"It's _gaatlok,_ all right," Maude declared smugly. and then waved at the offending odor. "I know! Ugh!"

Laughing, she pounced on Loghain who flipped her over and set about ravishing her thoroughly. The odd, penetrating smell of rotten eggs was to him the smell of victory: of enemy ships splintered and sinking, of darkspawn disappearing in a red mist, of the walls of Orlesian fortresses collapsing like sandcastles.

"You _do_ give the best presents, Maude," he murmured, on the high road to rapture.

* * *

Notes-_Thanks to my reviewers: Zute, cloud1004, JackOfBladesX, Psyche Sinclair, karinfan, Phygmalion, Dante Alighieri1308, Josie Lange, Gene Dark, mutive, Juliafied, Shakespira, Lehni, Kira Kyuu, Tyanilth, Enaid Aderyn, Jenna53, and mille libri._

_I realize that Bethany in canon really, really hates being a Grey Warden. However, anybody would hate it, being swept off without a hint of decent compassion by Stroud, and not being allowed to see her family until years later when it suits the Wardens in Ansburg. Being recruited by Maude is an entirely different affair._

_Sciagurato=wicked, wretched, unlucky_


	37. Home is Where the Heart Is

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 37: Home is Where the Heart Is**

Maude hardly paused for breath on their way down to the Great Hall for dinner. She went on happily about the adventures she had had, and the treasure she had won, and the friends she had made, and the interesting sights she had seen.

"But I'm gladdest of all to be home," she declared, squeezing his arm. "Kirkwall's a silly place, when all's said and done."

"I told you so," Loghain grunted.

"But I'm glad I went," she insisted. "Such a _lot_ of gold. It's nice to see it all together in one place. Let's do that before we go to bed tonight. It's so gorgeous!"

He paused to stroke a wayward lock from her pretty, flushed face. "You've done well."

"—And I've got us another Warden!" she added. "That's very nice, too!"

"As it happens," Loghain drawled, "You're not the only one."

"Really?" she asked eagerly. "You've been recruiting?"

"Just a bit. I'll introduce you before dinner. Four, as it happens. We found three in Amaranthine, and Sigrun brought us a dwarf when we were in Denerim."

"Oh, well done!"

* * *

Nearly everyone who was not actually serving sat down to dinner in the Great Hall. The Warden's table was beginning to fill out a little more respectably, now that there were fifteen of them. They needed more—many more—but Loghain watched his Wardens gather with no little pride. They were, in so many ways, the best of the best.

Bethany came to dinner, tagging behind Morrigan, looking very subdued. Loghain found it faintly alarming that Morrigan looked subdued as well.

It was a very good dinner, of course, in their very fine Hall. Morrigan manipulated the seating so that Anders was on her right, Bethany on her left, and Sketch on the other side of Bethany. Loghain was impressed with their magical contingent. There was a great deal of talent there: talent which amounted to genius when one considered the depth of Anders' healing skills. Every patrol could be supported by a mage, something that had been beyond the realm of possibility when he commanded the army. He must not think of the past, of course, because remembering the obstructionism of the Chantry would make him pointlessly angry. If there had been the mage support at Ostagar that they had later at Denerim...

_And if the interfering Revered Mother Clarine had not been there..._

His Wardens were all gathered, and Loghain set Ostagar aside.

"Senior Warden Maude, here are Wardens Osbeck, Brangel, Fimo, and Sketch."

Maude was at her most charming, of course. Three of the men spoke their greetings very respectfully, knowing her mostly by reputation. Loghain wondered what in the world theyhad heard about her. Osbeck only stared and grunted. He had seen her fight. Loghain thought the grunt could be interpreted as admiration.

"And from Kirkwall, City of Chains," said Maude, "I bring you Warden Bethany!"

Bethany gave a shy but graceful little bow. "Well met, Wardens."

A friendly murmur answered her.

"That's a pretty girl," Brangel said, elbowing Osbeck.

"All Wardens in the War Room after dinner," Loghain told them.

Then the dinner was served, and there was no place for lesser interests.

It was something of a celebration, so Loghain allowed them to fill up all the extra corners Wardens seemed to have. He never allowed himself the weakness of eating during a briefing. That made one human, and therefore reduced one's authority. Better to have the extra pudding right now...

"What good cider!" Maude exclaimed. "And from the very first season here..."

"Wait til you taste the brandy," Oghren rumbled, smug and self-assured. "It might be my masterpiece. So far."

"You're a man of many talents, Oghren," Telamon saluted him with his goblet.

"Yup. And I—"

There was noise at the outer doors: a woman's voice shrilling in anger and indignation. The puzzled Wardens looked at each other. All but Oghren, who seemed inclined to slip under the table.

A guard strode quickly into the hall.

"Warden-Commander!" he said. "There's a dwarf woman outside who demands to see you immediately. Except that she might mean the Senior Warden," he added, a bit lamely. "And she's got a baby, so I didn't want to send her back through the tunnels at night..."

"We could _both_ see her," Maude suggested archly to Loghain.

Loghain grunted, and then pointed down the table to the men on either side of Oghren. "You! Darrow and Osbeck. Don't let our brother Oghren wander away!"

Maude smirked over her shoulder. "Looks like you're doomed, Oghren!"

"Sodding nughumpers," Oghren muttered, reaching for his flask.

* * *

Loghain recognized the woman, though she was thin and dirty and exhausted. He never forgot a face. The hem of her skirt was thick with mud, and she was burdened, not just with a fretful baby, but with a ragged backpack and a tightly rolled blanket, which was nearly as filthy as the rest of her.

"Felsi!" cried Maude. "Welcome to Soldier's Peak. Come and sit down on the bench over here. What a darling baby!"

The woman was too tired to resist Maude, but she still had plenty to say.

"Where is he? I went all the way to Vigil's Keep, because Oghren said he was going there, but the guards at the gate said he was with the Wardens in Denerim. And so I went there, and the woman at the Wardens' place said he'd gone to Soldier's Peak, so I had to go north all over again..."

"I hope she let you stay there and rest," Maude said, a hint of thunder in her brows.

"She said I could spend the night, and I did, and she drew a little map for me. I got a ride on a trader's cart part of the way..."

Loghain turned to the anxious guard. "You did well to admit her. Have a servant bring a tray of food and some of that cider here."

"Well?" Felsi asked, too miserable to be much intimidated. "Is he here?"

"Yes, he's here," Maude assured her. "I know he'll be very happy to see you and the baby. Didn't he send you money? I've had him write you every month."

"I figured it was you. The innkeeper at the Spoiled Princess decided he didn't like having a baby about the place. He wanted me to foster her out, so I left to find Oghren. A good thing I had a bit of money, or Maddie and I would be as good as dead!"

"Maddie? Is that her name?"

"It's really Maude. Oghren said I was to name her after you."

"Really? After _me? _That's...extraordinary! Loghain, this baby is named after _me!"_

He had rarely seen her so delighted. "Then I suppose that makes you the child's godmother— after a fashion— though I don't know if the dwarves have that custom."

Felsi's eyes were red with unshed tears. "Are you going to let me stay?"

Before Loghain could answer, Maude said, "_Nobody_ is sending my little namesake away. It's going to be all right, and you should always believe me when I say things are going to be all right. Look, here's some dinner for you. I'll hold the baby while you eat...or no...er...do you have a bit of clean baby linen?"

An all-too-familiar smell issued from the direction of the squalling infant, and Loghain decided to leave Maude to it. "Sort it out. I'll send Oghren to you." He stalked back into the Hall, barely giving the guards time to open the door for him. The blazing fires and smell of rich food were a striking contrast to the chilly entry hall. It was Harvestmere and growing cold at night, and the wretched woman and her child had journeyed alone, all the way from Lake Calenhad...

"Oghren!" he barked. "Your wife's here! Go out there and talk to her. Do whatever Maude tells you!" He threw himself into his carved and imposing chair and set about finishing his pudding. The Wardens jeered and cheered as Oghren slunk away to face his family. Keenan, Loghain noticed, did not think it at all funny. He scowled and muttered something to Sigrun, who laid a sympathetic hand on his arm.

After a time, a sheepish Oghren reappeared, with a tired dwarf woman holding a little bundle in her arms. The dogs trotted up, curious and sniffing. Maude loomed over the dwarves, beaming affectionately at the baby and rather menacingly at Oghren. She gave him a nudge.

"Uh...er.." he cleared his throat. "This is my wife Felsi, and she's going to be staying here, so don't any of you blighters give her a hard time."

Felsi gave them all a nervous wave.

"We'll leave that to you, Oghren!" Anders smirked.

"Ha. Ha." Oghren flinched as Maude nudged him again. "And the nuglet is my kid Little Maude, or Maddie if you listen to Felsi. Don't anybody step on her."

The entire Hall rippled with talk. "A baby!" Bethany said, smiling and excited. "How adorable."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. Anders was already getting up to look mother and baby over in a brief gleam of blue magic. He spoke quietly to Maude, his face serious. She gave him a nod and put up her hand for silence.

"Felsi's had a hard journey and she's very tired, so the servants are going to take her up to Oghren's room for a bath and some needed rest. You can worry her with your names and faces tomorrow."

The poor woman was almost staggering with weariness, but with a servant on either side, she disappeared up the splendid marble stairs. That bit of drama over, Loghain rapped for attention.

"Enough! Briefing. War Room. Now."

* * *

"I told Morrigan quite a bit of it..."

"We all need to hear the story of your escape from Lothering," Maude urged Bethany. "And I won't be bored hearing it again. Any new detail you remember might be useful. All the Wardens should hear this, since one of our number might be in danger someday—though I hope not. If you come face to face with the being Bethany is going to describe—and I hope you do not—be respectful, say as little as possible, and remember that she is not your friend."

The Wardens were gathered at the big table in the War Room. Loghain was proud of this place. It occupied most of the former chapel, and was roomy enough for a gathering like this. The walls were handsomely paneled in fruitwood and hung with framed maps; the floor was smoothly paved with slate. The chairs were comfortable, so that people could sit in them long enough to make sensible decisions, rather than hurrying off with the quickest half-baked scheme they could come up with. It was well-lit, too, with a fine wrought-iron chandelier hanging above the table and torchieres standing in each corner. There was a purpose-built cabinet filled with yet more maps. The door was thick oak, and padded with leather on the inside, to make eavesdropping impossible.

"All right," Bethany said quietly. "I'll tell you all I saw and heard. Perhaps some of the things will mean more to you. I've thought it all over from time to time and I know I missed things. Flemeth was amusing herself with us: that much was clear. She didn't feel it was necessary to let us in on the joke."

"Flemeth?" Osbeck muttered to Kain. "_The _Flemeth? The Old One? The Great Witch of the Wilds?"

Anders jerked his head toward the stony-silent Morrigan. "Her mum."

There was a murmur of awe from those not already in the know.

Morrigan huffed a harsh laugh, staring at the table.

Maude gave a quick look at her friend, sizing up the extent of Morrigan's depression. "Start," she said to Bethany, "with after Ostagar. Your brothers were there, and were slow to return."

"Adam said they were on the south end of the battlefield and getting past the darkspawn was horribly difficult. They were in Commander Varel's irregulars."

"Varel..." Loghain remembered. "A cousin of the seneschal at Vigil's Keep, I think. Good man. Go on."

Bethany frowned. "I think they were trying to help some of the wounded get away. They ran into a mage who healed them as best she could. Then they heard that the darkspawn were advancing on Lothering, and they dropped everything else, and ran home. Mother and I didn't want to leave without them. We waited and waited, while the village grew empty. We packed a cart and were ready to go at a moment's notice. In the last panic, some men stole our mule, and by the time Adam and Carver reached us, the darkspawn were at their heels. In the end, we had hardly more than the clothes on our backs."

"Oh, I see," Maude broke in. "I had the timeline mixed up. Morrigan, Alistair, and I were already long gone from Lothering by the time you left. Things were already bad when we passed through. You must have been nearly the last ones out."

Bethany nodded, and tried to clear her throat. Anders poured her a cup of wine. She sipped from it slowly.

"We tried the Imperial Highway, but we were cut off. The darkspawn were there, and we turned east on the old trails. We could hardly tell where we were going. Everything was burned or burning, and nothing looked familiar. Everywhere there were bloated corpses and darkspawn filth. We were attacked—"

She took another drink. "We were attacked by little patrols of darkspawn scouts, again and again. It was a nightmare. We tried to keep Mother in the middle to protect her. There was a big fight we came upon, and that's where we met our friend Aveline...and her husband Ser Wesley. He was badly wounded. Still, we thought we'd have a bit more safety in numbers, even though he was a Templar and tried to threaten me, weak as he was..."

"Wait!" Sigrun broke in. "I don't understand about surface religion. I thought Chantry people weren't allowed to marry."

"Sometimes," Keenan explained, "a man or woman feels they are called to serve the Chantry. If they become a priest or lay brother or sister, their marriage is annulled. If they join the Templars, they can still be married, as long as they swear an oath to remain chaste."

"What's 'chaste?'" asked young Fimo.

Oghren leered. "It means—"

Valentine broke in tactfully, "No sex."

Fimo was astounded. "What's the point in that?"

Anders shrugged. "They get to hunt mages instead."

The little elf Sketch muttered, "That's all they care about, anyway."

Loghain thought that was enough of that. "Bethany?"

"So we went on, and then...then the ogre found us. That's where Carver was killed. I thought we were dead. I was so scared. Carver was lying there on the stones, broken and bloody, and I knew we'd be just like that very soon. I didn't know whether to hope they would kill Mother first or not."

"But you didn't give up," Maude encouraged her.

"No!" Bethany nodded, lost in thought. "I was going to fight until I was dead. You can't surrender to darkspawn. I could see that. But just as I was building up for a fireball, the darkspawn started shrieking and gobbling and staring up at the rocks above us. A dragon was there."

She shook her head. "I can't tell you how terrified I was. I thought it must be the Archdemon. For a long time after, I still wondered if it really had been. It was huge. It swooped down, flaming. I thought that maybe being incinerated was better than being hacked apart by darkspawn, but I still threw myself flat on the ground. Instinct, I suppose. The dragon swept past us, and the darkspawn burst into flame, screaming more horribly than you can imagine. The dragon alighted, grabbing them up in its talons and smashing them down. It was still grasping one when it started...changing."

Everyone at the table was dead silent, listening in utter fascination.

"It turned into a woman. That sounds silly, I know, but she didn't look like any woman you've ever seen. She was magnificent. She wasn't old or young or any particular age. She was just herself. Her white hair was swept back and some of it looked almost like horns. She was dressed in armor-studded leather armor that fit her perfectly. She had high boots and long gauntlets of dragonbone. She looked over at us, and swaggered over to us slowly, still dragging the body of the last darkspawn she had crushed. She let it go, like a cat bored with its prey, and then she spoke to us. I've never forgotten it. She thought we were entertaining. She said, "We usually have so few visitors to the Wilds, but now they come in hordes!"

"She laughs at her own jokes," Maude nodded. "I hate that in people. Go on."

"Well," said Bethany, "she was going to leave us there, but maybe she liked my brother Adam. A lot of people do." She looked down the table at the other Wardens. "He's very, very good-looking, and even with everything against us, he could still joke about it. He said, 'Very impressive! Where did you learn to turn into a dragon?'"

"I'd like to know that myself," Morrigan muttered darkly.

Bethany glanced at her uneasily and continued her story. "And the woman said, 'Perhaps I _am_ a dragon...'"

There was a quick stir at that, and every Warden looked very impressed.

"It could explain a lot," Maude murmured to Loghain. He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes on their new recruit. Morrigan blew out a very long breath.

Bethany said, "I thought that she meant she was the Archdemon, and that she was going to kill us. Adam didn't let himself look scared at all, though. The woman said then that we were lucky that the smell of burning darkspawn did nothing for the appetite. She had seen the ogre killed and wanted a closer look at us. Now that her curiosity was satisfied, she was leaving."

"She was just going to leave you there?" Valentine asked, horrified.

Bethany nodded. "She did tell us we were running in the wrong direction, which was good, I suppose. Adam told her he'd love to learn that trick of hers-turning into a dragon, I mean. That amused her, and she said it would take more than a clever tongue. We told her we wanted to go to Kirkwall, and Adam..." she glanced over at Loghain. "Adam said some things that made her laugh. She said she liked him. She thought about it and told us that fortune smiled on us that day. She would get us to Gwaren if we took an amulet of hers with us to Kirkwall and gave it to the Keeper of the Dalish clan nearby. She told us the elf's name was Marethari. If Adam would swear to do that, she would save us, and call it a fair trade."

"How did you know she was Flemeth?" asked Anders.

"Aveline guessed it," Bethany replied. "And Flemeth agreed. She said she was called 'Witch of the Wilds,' 'Flemeth,' 'Ashabellenar,' and even 'The Old Hag Who Talks Too Much.' We could only agree to do as she said. She kept her word and got us past the darkspawn and most of the way to Gwaren. And then she changed back to a dragon, and flew away home."

"And that was it?" Loghain asked harshly.

"No," Bethany admitted. "Before we went with her to Gwaren, there was Aveline's husband, who was infected by the darkspawn. We wanted her to help him, but Flemeth said that only Grey Wardens could help him, and the last of them were beyond our reach. So Aveline...helped him die, and we left for Gwaren. There we took ship and spent fourteen days in a ship's stinking hold, packed in with other refugees like animals. The sailors treated us like animals, too. It was horrible. But we got to Kirkwall, and that's another story, for there were already too many refugees and the city guard almost didn't let us in. We had to indenture ourselves, and it was nearly a year before we were free, and could go back and forth in and out of the city. Once we could do that, it was time to pay our debt to Flemeth."

Morrigan slapped the table in irritation. "You could have sold the amulet! You could have thrown it away! You could have left it at the bottom of a chest!"

"Yes," Bethany said, not at all cowed. "but we _didn't._ We gave our word. Besides, Adam and I agreed that in the end it was not a good idea to lie to a powerful mage—or whatever she was. She kept her part of the bargain, and we kept ours."

"What then?" Loghain asked.

"Tell him about what happened on Sundermount!" Maude said eagerly. "When you brought the amulet to the Dalish..."

Bethany nodded. "We found Marethari and her clan, and she sent us up the mountain where we met Merrill, who had been her First, but who was now wanting to leave the clan and go live in the Alienage in Kirkwall."

"Live in an Alienage? On _purpose?"_ Telamon asked, flummoxed. _"Why?"_

"We didn't know at first," Bethany told him. "We eventually found out though. Merrill started using Blood Magic, and the clan wouldn't let her stay with them any more."

"Merrill was a blood mage?" Maude asked in wonder. "I never would have guessed. You've never seen a milder, sweeter, more ethereal little creature than Merrill!" she told Loghain.

"She was a blood mage, all right," Bethany assured her. "I saw her do it, there on Sundermount, to bring down a warded barrier. She said she could handle it, and that we weren't to worry."

"All blood mages say that," Anders snarked. "just before they turn into abominations and get all manky about the head and waist."

"Go on," Maude urged. "Tell them the rest of the Flemeth story."

Bethany nodded. "We fought a lot of undead shades going up Sundermount. It was the site of a huge battle between the ancient elves and the Tevinter magisters. The air smells of magic. We made our way through a cave and stepped out to a ledge where there was an old stone altar. Adam laid the amulet on the altar, and Merrill spoke in Dalish, and...Flemeth appeared."

"Dragon... or woman?" rumbled Osbeck.

"A little of both at first," Bethany said. "But then her form settled into the powerful-looking woman we had seen before. She was very pleased with us."

Morrigan grimaced. "Undoubtedly!"

"Adam wasn't afraid of her, and he asked how she had managed to hide in the amulet. She said she could be in more than one place at the same time, which I'm not sure I believe, but as to the amulet, she said she had put a little piece of herself in there, 'in case the inevitable happened. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has.'"

"Whoa!" Maude exclaimed. Everyone stared at Morrigan, who glared back furiously.

"_What_ did she say about me?" Morrigan demanded.

A little daunted, Bethany said, "Adam wanted to know who 'Morrigan' was, and Flemeth said, 'She is a girl who thinks she knows what is what better than I, or anyone. And why not? I raised her to be as she is, I cannot expect her to be less.'"

"This is your _mother?"_ Sketch asked thickly.

Morrigan sneered at him. "In a manner of speaking only. Bethany, continue."

"She said she had not wanted to be followed, and so she was glad to be smuggled there secretly. She said she had an appointment to keep..."

"I don't like the sound of that," Loghain muttered.

"Tell them what she said to Adam," Maude urged. "That was interesting."

"Well, Adam asked her what she planned to do, and _I _hoped that whatever it was, it was very, very far away. Luckily, she didn't see my face, because she was looking at Adam, which most people do. She said—and I'll never forget it— '_Destiny awaits us both, dear boy. We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.'"_

A silence. Loghain said, "And then?"

"And then she turned into a dragon, and flew away. We haven't seen her since, thank the Maker!"

"I wish," said Morrigan, "that I could believe that none of us will see her ever again!"

"Do you suppose," Maude said thoughtfully, "that Flemeth isn't just making it up? That High Dragon we ran into in the Frostbacks clearly understood human speech. The Old Gods were powerful, intelligent beings. Maybe Flemeth is an Old God—or just a very clever High Dragon—who somehow learned to shape-shift into human form. Long ago, she might have heard that poor bard Osen at his singing, and found him charming. She turned herself into a beautiful woman. When Osen was murdered, she unleashed her power on the killers; and that was the end of the Elfstans of Highever, and the beginning of the Witch of the Wilds."

"I admit 'tis possible," Morrigan admitted reluctantly, "that a human form offers her more opportunities for amusement than she would have as a dragon..."

"What do you suppose she meant by _'the precipice of change?'"_ Anders mused.

Loghain snarled, "Flemeth is an interfering old hag who pretends to be cleverer than anyone else. She utters ridiculous predictions to make herself important. She's a liar."

"Yes," Morrigan laughed bitterly. "'Tis clear that you have met her!"

"Loghain's right about the lying," Maude pointed out. "Remember how she went on with me about being a 'weak old woman' who couldn't help fight the Blight? That was hogwash. There were heaps of things she could have done. She just couldn't be bothered. And her predictions are so obscure to be meaningless. As I say, be polite to her if you meet her, but don't expect any help. She is not our friend, and she nearly tricked Morrigan into something disastrous."

Keenan had been listening with wonder and interest, and spoke up. "What I don't understand is why you went to Kirkwall at all, Bethany! Why not stay in Gwaren, or go north to Denerim or Amaranthine?"

"Mother was from Kirkwall. She has a brother there, and I suppose she always thought of it as home. The Amells were a prominent family, and she thought...mistakenly...that my uncle still lived at the estate."

"Wait!" Anders interrupted. "Amell? I knew an Amell at the Circle..."

"Very likely," Bethany agreed. "I have an older cousin who was sent to the Fereldan Circle. Magic crops up in the Amells from time to time. That time it ruined them. My grandfather would have been made Viscount, but with the disgrace—"

"Don't!" Anders burst out. "I hate hearing magic being called a disgrace. It's just magic! There's nothing disgraceful about it! So Ambrose Amell is your cousin. I know him: good man, good mage. Haven't seen him in years, since I was locked up during the Blight and escaped when the mages rebelled. He was quite the prodigy, though."

"Why did they send your cousin to the Fereldan circle?" asked Sketch. "they've got their own bloody awful big Circle right there in Kirkwall!"

"Politics, I think," Bethany said. "They didn't want my cousin getting preferential treatment because of his family. What a joke that was! That was just the beginning of my family's fall. My Uncle Gamlen lost everything and was living in a shack in Lowtown. At least it was a roof," she admitted. "Until he vouched for us, we were stuck in the Gallows; and Lowtown is better than Darktown, where the _really_ poor live…"

"Old mining tunnels under the city," Maude explained to everyone. "Pretty grim. Sort of like Dust Town."

"Ugh," groaned Sigrun. "You're kidding, right?"

"No," Maude assured her. "I'm really not."

"I can't believe that poor Evelina was stuck there with all those children," Valentine said, shaking his head.

"Well, she's not anymore," Maude said with satisfaction.

Darrow and Kain were looking nervous. Something was up. Loghain asked, "And who is Evelina?"

"Oh!" Maude's smile brightened. "I haven't told you about Evelina. She's a very nice young woman who rescued a pack of Fereldan orphans and was trying to provide for them down in Darktown. I brought her back home with me."

Everyone began looking about them for invisible orphans.

"I left them in Breaker's Cove!" Maude laughed. "I chose one of the abandoned cottages for them. It doesn't cost much to keep them, and why shouldn't they come home to their own country? Evelina's a very decent girl, too. She made a foolish but understandable mistake in taking the children to Kirkwall. I saw no reason for them to suffer forever for it. Anyway, they'll be fine. I gave her a bit of coin to feed and clothe the children. They cost hardly anything."

"How many children?" Loghain asked, with long-suffering patience.

"Only eight."

"No, nine," Bethany corrected her. "Don't you remember? She picked up that other little girl whose parents died."

"Yes, that's right. Glynis. Nice little thing. Well, nine. Nine Fereldan children who didn't belong in gruesome Kirkwall. She's teaching the children their letters, and the girls to spin and weave. The boys will find things to do eventually as well. It's going to be all right, Loghain!"

Bethany leaned toward Morrigan and whispered, "As long as nobody finds out that Evelina is an apostate!"

* * *

After everyone else was dismissed, Maude showed Anders and Morrigan the black powder.

The mages sniffed at it cautiously, and rubbed some between their fingertips.

"'Tis charcoal," Morrigan shrugged. "Mostly..."

"I figured that out, too," Maude agreed, "but what about that rotten-eggy smell?"

"Drakestone," Anders said instantly. "That's drakestone. It's used in ointments to counter venereal itch."

Loghain grimaced, wondering where the Qunari had got the idea for their gaatlok.

Not at all daunted, Anders sniffed it again. "Drakestone's not hard to find. It's all over the Deep Roads. I never pick up any because it's cheap and plentiful. Sometimes the big yellow crystal formations are pretty, but they're too soft for jewelry. Right. Drakestone. And something else. I'll think about it. It'll come to me. I'm more curious about how they made it form these heavy black grains. It's not exactly a powder."

"Maybe the grains formed because of storage."

"Maybe. I'll work on it. You know you should get Dworkin in on this, too."

"Dworkin isn't a Warden. We can't trust him the way we trust you."

"Then you need to recruit a first-rate dwarven engineer. Maybe not Dworkin himself, though. He really is bonkers."

Loghain thought it over. All the Glavonaks were engineers. Perhaps there was someone else in the family—someone younger— who could join the Grey Wardens. Anders was right. They could use a really good engineer within their ranks.

* * *

Before Maude could throw herself into any of her projects the next morning, Loghain pinned her down to the bed with an arm and a leg and said, "Your brother wants to know when you're coming. Cauthrien's due any day now."

Maude tried to wriggle away, but he held her ruthlessly. She scowled at him and then thumped him with her long and heavy braid. When he remained immovable, she blew out a breath. "I suppose I should suck it up and go tomorrow."

She did not sound very excited at the prospect. Unsurprising, considering all the gadding about she'd been engaged in. Then, too, her last memories of Highever were dark ones...

"Then I'll send a messenger to them today, to give them notice."

"Fine," Maude said, her face tightening. "We're going to Highever. It had to happen some time. At least I'll have had _one day_ at home."

* * *

Quite a bit of work had been finished on the Coast Road to Highever. Loghain had financed the improvements from Soldier's Peak to well over the Highever border; far enough that the new highway now connected with the ancient road that was heavily used in the teyrnir. The rest of the way, along the coast to the old Warden stronghold, had fallen out of use for the past two hundred years, in favor of the North Road.

It was a fine day for a journey. Clouds scudded overhead in a sky of blazing azure. To their right, the surf pounded the Coastlands. The breeze from the north was cool, but not biting, and smelled of the sea. Just behind them, a light two-wheeled cart, pulled by a strong horse, kept pace. They would need more luggage for a stay at Highever than they could carry in their saddlebags. Topaz ran at Loghain's stirrup, and Ranger at Maude's; but two puppies rode in the cart, small heads thrust forward boldly into the wind, enjoying the new smells.

"This is nice," Maude approved, as their horses ate up the miles at an easy canter. "I like the view. And no bandits. I guess they haven't really discovered this road yet."

"Give them time. They'll find it," Anders predicted. Maude insisted on his attendance. Everything possible must be done to give Highever a healthy, living heir, and her brother a child to dote upon.

Morrigan decided that she wished to go as well. It would be an opportunity to dress in her best, and Loghain remembered that she rather liked Fergus Cousland. Morrigan had also confessed to a certain curiosity about the place that had produced Maude. Keenan was left in command of the Wardens for a few days, and seemed very pleased and encouraged by the trust placed in him.

He was a good man, and a very good archer. Loghain frowned, thinking about archers. The Wardens needed archers. Lots of archers. If they had a good body of archers, down in the Deep Roads, then a lot of darkspawn would not survive long enough to reach the Warden ranks. A first-rate engineer, yes: but a _lot_ of archers. How to encourage archers to join the Wardens? He played with a number of ideas as they traveled.

The horses needed to be rested in frequent intervals, and thus it was growing dark by the time their long day's journey was over. Castle Highever, squat and ancient, loomed over the city of Highever below. They skirted the town, since that would only delay them. As they approached the fortress, silhouetted against the twilight, Maude had less and less to say. By the time they reached the gates, she was quite silent.

"Are you all right?" Loghain whispered to her, as they were led through the outer courtyard.

"Not in the least," she answered, her voice crackling with false cheer. "But the worst is yet to come."

The double doors opened on the Great Hall of Castle Highever: an antiquated interior of rough stone and rough beams. Loghain wondered if he was getting soft. Compared to what they were making of Soldier's Peak, the ancestral home of the Couslands was primitive and unlovely. Morrigan looked about with thinly veiled scorn.

She whispered to Loghain, "Soldier's Peak is far superior!"

But it was full of friends to welcome them. Cauthrien smiled wanly at them, enthroned with a great many cushions in a futile attempt to make her something other than desperately uncomfortable. There was Fergus, more bear-like than ever, arms out to hug Maude.

"Welcome home, little sister! Not a moment too soon!" he laughed, reaching out with his right hand for Loghain's. "Poor Cauthrien's about to pop! Ow!'

Maude had poked him hard in the ribs. "Don't be rude, you horrible great lout, especially about the woman who's about to bring your heir into the world!" She took a seat by Cauthrien and put her hand over her sister-in-law's. "How are you, Cauthrien?"

"I'm fine," the Teyrna of Highever insisted. "It will soon be over."

That was the soldier in Cauthrien, still soldiering on. Loghain gave her a half-smile, which she returned with a glint of her old spirit.

"And more friends!" Fergus exclaimed. "Glad to see you, Warden Morrigan." He bowed respectfully. "You are very welcome to Castle Highever. And Warden Anders! You wouldn't consider—"

"—Be happy to," Anders said casually, pulling out his discreet little wand and waving it casually in Cauthrien's direction. "Everything seems to be going well—really well. Umm, have you not noticed that you're actually in labor?"

"I've had some twinges since the afternoon," Cauthrien admitted, "but I wasn't sure it was labor or not. Everyone speaks of labor 'pains,' and I would hardly consider such minor discomfort as such. I was stabbed through the hand once. _That_ was pain."

"Not having experienced labor myself, I can't judge," Anders replied, rather wide-eyed. "You might feel more 'discomfort' later."

Cauthrien seemed in no hurry to take to her bed, and so they were given seats and chatted where they were. Loghain gave a quick glance in Maude's direction. She appeared perfectly at her ease, but he knew her well enough to see that it was an effort. Her eyes wandered the hall, pausing here and there, and she frowned, as if looking for things that no longer existed.

The dogs seemed happy, enough, sniffing about industriously. The puppies followed their mother, and were exclaimed over at length.

"There's another puppy at home," Maude told Fergus, glad to be distracted by something she found pleasant, "but he's already imprinted, and we couldn't take him away. This is Onyx," she said, pointing to the midnight-black mabari, "and this little girl is Ears," she said, indicating a puppy of a silky chestnut brown—all but the tips of the ears, which were white. Maude smiled at her brother. "If one or both of them were to find a friend here at Highever, we'd be very pleased."

"So would I!" Fergus enthused, putting out his hand for the little visitors. "Fine beasts, the both of them!"

Morrigan looked expressively at Anders, who only smiled. Cauthrien winced briefly, and said, "Fergus, I'm sure our guests would like to be shown to their rooms before supper. No, really, I'm quite all right. I'll tell you when I'm not…"

So they went to their guest chambers, though Maude's polite smile was fixed and manic. As they walked through the halls, her eyes twitched here and there; warily, as if expecting an attack. Loghain looked at her in concern and pulled on her hand.

"Sorry," muttered Maude, her eyes glassy. "I keep seeing dead people. Over there is Ser Manion, and through the library is my tutor Aldous."

"When you say 'you see dead people,'" Anders said delicately, "are you saying that you're remembering them, or are you actually_ seeing_ them? Because if that's the case…"

"Shh!" Morrigan hushed him firmly, seeing the servants' ears cocked in their direction.

They went up a ramp, and then some stairs, and the corridor opened into a little bower, a very inviting place to sit, even at the end of Harvestmere. Maude's eyes softened, and she turned her head as they passed, as if watching some beloved sight.

Through an iron-bound door, and there was a door on either side, and one straight ahead. The servant in the lead stopped here, and showed Morrigan to the room on the right, and Anders to the room on the left. Maude pressed her lips together.

Through the last iron bound door, and they entered a square stone chamber. Doors to left, right and front led to the family's personal bedchambers.

The servant led them to the door on the left, and said to Maude, "The Teyrn thought you would like to have your old room, Your Grace," He bowed to Loghain, "Warden-Commander. Supper will be served directly."

"How _delightful,"_ Maude answered, feigning satisfaction quite creditably.

Their luggage was deposited and organized, and the servants dismissed. Maude moved through the stone chamber, touching everything. Topaz had no compunctions about sprawling out on a thick blanket arranged on the floor, the puppies milling about her. Ranger followed Maude, however, sniffing about with a puzzled air.

"That's right, old boy," Maude said, "This used to be our home. We used to live here all the time until the bad thing happened."

She prowled back and forth, examining everything with great suspicion. Loghain left her to it, while he washed his face and hands and changed into clean and expensive clothes.

"The hangings and coverlet are different," she muttered. "And all my things are gone." She flicked imaginary dust from an empty bookshelf. "I hate being here."

"Expressing that to your brother might not be the most tactful move. He obviously thinks that this is still your home."

"This can never be home to me ever again! He wasn't here!" Maude hissed. "He didn't _see_ it! Morrigan's in the room where Lady Landra was _killed_. They've put Anders is in Dairren's room, and I have no idea what they did to him, but nobody's seen or heard from him since that night." She fell on her knees, groping at the stones lower in the wall.

"Ha!" With a faint grinding, a stone came away in her hand. She reached inside the cavity, and drew out a dusty little book.

"What's that?" Loghain asked, buttoning the last button.

"It's _mine_," Maude said. "It's my diary. I hid it so the servants wouldn't find it. Or Oren. He had picky little fingers. Or Mother, for that matter. She thought she needed to keep an eye on me."

Loghain grunted his agreement. Maude definitely needed watching. "You should get changed. I promise not to read your diary."

Maude shrugged, thumbing through the crackling pages. "Old news now. I'm all alone. Nobody understands me. The usual angst. Did Anora keep a diary?"

"Yes."

"Did you read it?"

A pause.

"Ha!" Maude said. "No surprise there. I'll bet nobody understood her either."

"Get changed," he grunted. "The green, maybe. After you wash your dirty face."

* * *

They joined their host and hostess for a quiet but substantial supper. A number of vassals were in the city, awaiting the invitation to witness the the Teyrna's laying-in, but Fergus wanted things as stress-free as possible for Cauthrien beforehand. And he wanted to talk to the Wardens privately.

Aside from the nuances of Cauthrien's condition, he wanted to hear about Maude's journeys to Gwaren and Kirkwall, and what came of them. Cauthrien was looking a little edgier now, and the occasional wince was more frequent. Still, she insisted she wanted to hear their news.

"I got on fine in Gwaren," Maude said. "Aside from everyone wanting Loghain to come back to them, I felt I had solid support there. Or at least the Little Teyrn will have it, which comes to the same thing."

"The Little Teyrn?" Fergus asked, smirking. "That's a way of putting it! Any sign—"

"Actually, Fergus—" Maude dropped her voice, and looked about to see if any servants were hovering too closely. "The Little Teyrn is expected sometime in Drakonis. Shh! You don't have to—"

"That's wonderful news!" Fergus burst out. "Why are you keeping it a secret? You should tell everyone. It's best to have these things clear and settled."

"We wanted Maude to build support in Gwaren before announcing it to the King and Queen," Loghain explained grimly.

"I think you should announce it here, publicly," Cauthrien said. "It's a very appropriate time. We'll have a celebratory feast...probably tomorrow night...I _hope."_

"Cauthrien's right," Fergus agreed instantly. "Keeping it secret any longer would look dodgy. If you suddenly produced a baby with no warning, there'd be talk. Announce it tomorrow night!"

"Are you sure it's a Teyrn, and not a Teyrna?" Cauthrien wondered.

"I have it from Anders himself," Maude assured her.

"You can tell?" Fergus asked, surprised.

"Sure," Anders grinned. "Do you want to know—?"

"—No!" said Cauthrien.

"—Yes!" countered Fergus eagerly.

"—No!" Cauthrien insisted. "I want to be surprised."

Fergus smiled, and subsided. "You're the one in labor."

The talk turned to politics. Fergus was as alarmed at the news of the Qunari inroads as they could wish.

"Based on what I found out," Maude told them, "I'd say the initial appearance might well have been due to a shipwreck. However, the warship was near Kirkwall, which is ominous in itself. It appears that the Qunari are sending scouts and patrols deep into the Waking Sea. And now that they are in the city and digging in, I have a feeling that the Arishok is either seeking a pretext to attack or will simply lash out in frustration. It might take some time—maybe they want the city to become complacent—but the Qunari will eventually make their move."

"Are they proselytizing?" Cauthrien asked. "They might try to convert the underclass first. That could give them spies and infiltrators throughout the city."

"Good point," Maude acknowledged. "They're Qunari, They're always trying to convert _bas_ like us. 'Trash'" she translated. "Dirty things who do not know the Qun." She played with her empty goblet, turning it to admire the chasings. "Considering how bad things are in the city for the refugees, the elves, and the native poor, I'd say time was on the side of the Qunari. The city guard couldn't take them, and the Templars won't lift a finger until the Chantry itself is attacked—"

"—and by that time, the rest of the city could have been sacked," Fergus finished for her. "Dumar was a fool to let them inside the walls. What was he thinking?"

Loghain shook his head. "It doesn't matter. What we need to do is fortify the Coastlands against them—against any invader, for that matter."

Fergus was thinking hard. "Father made some changes to Highever Harbor," he said, "to make sure the Orlesians could never use it to invade. And it's naturally defensible, too, with those two high headlands on either side."

Cauthrien frowned. "The Qunari have those explosives, of course..."

A very quiet, very private conversation ensued. They discussed the inventions of Dworkin Glavonak, and his explosive lyrium grenades. They discussed the improved fortifications devised by his brother, Voldrik. The Wardens suggested that future improvements were on the way. The Teyrn and Teyrn brought up their lean financial circumstances. The Wardens countered with an offer of a substantial loan, on very easy terms. Plans were made. Loghain felt the discussion had gone well, and was far more satisfied with the outcome than he had been in Denerim.

Cauthrien winced again, and looked a little distressed. Fergus was growing anxious. "Cauthrien, are you _sure_ you don't need to go to bed?"

"I'm...all right," she assured him bravely. "I feel better doing things."

"It really is better for her," Anders put in. "Sitting up, even walking. It will actually help moving the process along. She's not _sick,_ after all: she's having a baby. In a few hours."

"I confess I am restless," Cauthrien admitted. "But there is no reason that the rest of you should not get some sleep. Later, it may not be possible. Please. I'll send word when the time comes."

* * *

Maude went to bed, but not to sleep. It was clear that even sex was out of the question. Loghain sighed, seeing his young wife sitting up in bed, tense and alert, her eyes fixed on the door. Ranger licked her hand and whined.

"Go to sleep," Loghain ordered the dog. "She's just in one of her moods."

Ranger understood about his Maude and her moods. With an immense yawn, he turned around three times and ponderously settled down by Topaz and the puppies.

That dealt with, Loghain put an arm over Maude. "And you need to sleep, too."

"I _can't_ sleep…"

"Maude," he said wearily, "we may only have an hour or two before we're summoned to witness the birth. And then we'll be mobbed with the rest of the guests."

"I can't sleep. What if something happens?"

"Nobody is going to attack the castle tonight."

"You'll be very embarrassed if someone _does,"_ Maude pointed out, still staring at the door. "You'll feel silly, if someone wakes us screaming outside, "_'My lady, my lady, the castle is under attack,'_ and you hear his dying gurgle and his nails scrabbling as he slides down the door." She was exhausted, her head nodding slowly. She shook it and said, "Besides, it's utterly weird having a man with me in this bed. My father would absolutely have a fit if he caught me with a man in here."

"I thought you were about to say, 'My father would kill me if he caught me with a man in this bed.'"

"Nuh-huh. He'd never kill _me,_ but he'd kill the _man._ Absolutely. Unless he was a good match. And then it'd be off to the chapel in my smallclothes for a crossbow wedding."

"We're _married,_ Maude," Loghain reminded her.

"I know. It's still weird though…you being here. And I hate this coverlet. I had a nice green one. And the sheets are scratchy."

"The sheets are _not_ scratchy."

"They're not like the sheets I had on this bed. They were perfect."

"I would think you'd be glad not to be sleeping on the same linens used by Rendon Howe's officers. Cauthrien probably made a point of burning them."

"True. Cauthrien's doing all right here," she mumbled dozily.

Loghain was glad of the admission. "Then shut your eyes and try to sleep."

Maude was already unconscious, issuing the daintiest of snores.

He should have expected complications.

* * *

_Everything was rather hazy at the edges. Loghain pushed his way into the corridor and found himself facing a swarm of soldiers. Startled, they shrank back from him._

_"—It's him!"_

_"—It's Teyrn Loghain!" _

_"—the Arl didn't say that Teyrn Loghain would be here..."_

_"—What are we going to do?"_

_"Stand down!" Loghain ordered. "What in the Maker's name are you doing sneaking about here armed? Lower your weapons!"_

_They looked at each other in bewilderment, but they did as they were told, of course. Every one of them looked exactly the same, which was certainly very odd. Loghain sneered in disgust and walked up the ramp. His armor felt strange...different..._

_He was in his old River Dane armor, but it was shining with an unearthly light. Pushing his way through a door, he found more curiously identical soldiers creeping about, fitting a key into a door. They caught sight of him and retreated like a pack of naughty children caught at mischief. _

_"Get out!" he told them. "You don't belong here."_

_They fled, and Loghain was left standing in a square stone chamber, a door in each of the four walls. He knew this place..._

_Castle Highever! Of course! He was visiting..._

_The left-hand door cracked open, and a pretty young face peered out. Ranger squeezed past the door and ran to him, tail wagging._

_"Teyrn Loghain!" called a much younger Maude Cousland. "Arl Howe's men are attacking!"_

_"No, they're not," he contradicted. "I sent them away. Howe is dead, Maude. You killed him."_

_She took no notice of his words, but came out, dressed in hunting leathers. "We've got to save Father! We've got to save everyone! If we don't...they'll all be dead!"_

_Loghain blinked, feeling reality bending back on itself. He was here, visiting Castle Highever. In one reality, he was visiting Fergus Cousland and his wife Cauthrien. But superimposed over this was was another, powerfully persuasive timeline, one in which he was still Teryn of Gwaren, and Bryce Cousland had invited him for a visit to discuss the war. Should he not be at Ostagar? No, he was here, and Howe was here as well, somewhere in the Castle. _

_Wait. Maude was his wife, was she not? But this Maude—this strangely soft, frightened, wide-eyed young girl— did not look lilke his wife. She was insisting that she was the real Maude, but Loghain was almost sure she was not..._

_"Maude," he managed. "Maude. We're in the Fade. This is just a dream. You need to wake up."_

_"No!" she pleaded. "We're going to save them! It's going to be better this way! Just believe, and I can make everything sad come untrue!"_

_"Stop!" he caught at her arm. "Look! Ranger knows me! We have been married since we defeated the Blight. I don't know what you hope to accomplish, but I know that I do not want to live through the Blight all over again. It's over, Maude. You cannot go back to that night."_

_"I can! I can fix things..."_

_"I don't want you to fix things. I want my life the way it is. I'm happy, Maude, and I thought you were, too. You're expecting our child, Maude! If you change things, the child will die!"_

_She stared at him, horrified, her lips moving, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling in deep concentration._

_"All right. This is how it's going to be. We're married. Father arranged it. I'm expecting a baby. Fergus left with the Highever troops. You, Father, and Howe are going tomorrow. Howe doesn't dare do anything with you here..."_

_"Maude! Your parents are dead. The Blight is over. I am Commander of the Grey in Ferelden."_

_"Duncan is here—"_

_"He'd better not bloody show his face!" Loghain shouted. "You are a Grey Warden and Regent of Gwaren and I am Warden-Commander! You bloody conscripted me yourself! When we're done here, we're going home to Soldier's Peak. Our home. You'll play in the rose garden. You'll sort out Oghren and that wife and child of his. Who is named after you, remember. We're going to recruit a whole company of archers. And then we're going to blow up the darkspawn with the blackpowder you stole from the Qunari!"_

_Her face altered very subtly. "Blow up darkspawn?"_

_"Yes. Blow up darkspawn. You'll like it."_

_"Blow up darkspawn..." The planes of her face were shifting, tautening...her eyes were brightening. She whispered, "And take their stuff?"_

_He kissed her. After the first, starled response, she kissed him back, and was once again the Maude he knew._

* * *

"Warden-Commander!"

The knock crashed through the dream-web of fantasy. The Veil was pushed back, and the Fade receded.

"Your Grace! The Teyrna's time has come. You are wanted."

Another knock, much louder.

Maude threw herself from the bed, scrambling for her sword. "I knew it!" she croaked. "They're here!"

Loghain caught her around the waist. She tried to slam her head back into his face. "Maude!" He gave her a shake. "Maude! Stop fighting! Cauthrien's having the baby!" To the door, he shouted, "Everything's fine! We're coming!"

Ranger whimpered and cracked an eye open. Deciding that it was nothing that concerned him, he went back to sleep.

Maude stopped struggling quite suddenly. "Oh."

"Yes. We're all right. What were you doing, messing about in the Fade like that?"

"I was trying to fix things."

"Everything's fine. It doesn't need to be fixed. We'll finish our visit here and then go _home._ Get dressed. The baby's coming."

"R...right."

He struck flint to tinder, and yellow candlelight bloomed in the dark chamber. Only the faintest light shone through the windows. It was not yet dawn, then. They would have a long and busy day. The dogs stirred and shook themselves. Loghain dressed quickly, and thought over that very peculiar dream.

"The Chantry teaches that only mages are supposed to be able to do things like that, you know," he pointed out.

"Well, _I_ did do it, so obviously the Chantry is _wrong,_ as usual. If I _were_ a mage, I'd learn to do that crushing-prison thingy that Morrigan does. That's great. And I'd freeze things and then shatter them. That's always a good one."

"Are you wearing red?"

"If I get blood on the gown, it won't show."

He took her by the shoulders, and gave her a kiss. "Don't do that again. This is the only reality I want. Soldier's Peak is the only home I want, and you are the only Maude I want."

"Really?"

"Really and truly. Now come on."

* * *

While the delivery of the heir of Highever was not so well-attended or so formal as that of Princess Rhoswyn, a number of ladies were in the birthing chamber to bear witness. Lady Ormlaith, the young wife of Bann Loren, was in attendance, very pleased at this bit of recognition. It was a somewhat subdued gathering, shadowed by the death of Arlessa Isolde of Redcliffe. No one wanted to say the unlucky word, and see such another disaster.

Loghain waited outside with the men—other than Fergus and Anders, the healer in attendance. It vexed him, since he had been, from the beginning of their relationship, Cauthrien's foster-father for all practical purposes. It was he who had educated her—given her a chance in life—watched her blossom into womanhood and then train herself to be one of the greatest warriors in Ferelden. Their relationship had grown more complex over the years, but despite all the strains and differences of opinion, he felt a great deal for her. Now he was banished to an anteroom with the other useless and casual male acquaintances.

He could hear no screaming through the door, which, while no more than he expected of Cauthrien, still bothered him, since he had no clue what was happening. He forced himself to sit still, and glared at Bann Frandarel, when the nobleman started up a card game with his friends to beguile the time. The crude, old-fashioned little windows were pink with sunrise. Surely it could not be much longer?

There was excited feminine noise, muffled through the thick walls. After some time. the door opened on silent, oiled hinges.

"The Teyrna has borne a son, my lords," murmured a maidservant. "And she is well."

Loghain entered into a room of smiling faces. "Smiling," indeed, was too weak a word for Fergus Cousland's expression. Maidservants hustled away bloody linen. Happy chatter filled the room. Everyone pushed good-naturedly to get a look at the newest little Cousland. Loghain was relieved to see Cauthrien's radiant face. Stout warrior that she was, there was no sign of the exhaustion and strain he had seen with other new mothers. Cauthrien had done her duty, fought her battle, triumphed, and had sufficient strength left to celebrate her victory.

She and Maude were exclaiming over the swaddled baby, for once in perfect accord. Fergus swaggered over, grinning, and lifted the little bundle with the ease of prior experience,

"Behold, my friends!" Fergus called out, holding his son high. "Behold my son Caradoc! Lawfully born of my Teyrna—and may the Maker bless her for the great gift she had bestowed on me this day!"

Cheers and laughter. Fergus gave the tiny pink face a kiss, and raised his voice again.

"Bring wine to my guests—and to the Teyrna and me—for this birthing business is thirsty work!"

Not just wine, but some cider sent from Soldier's Peak was poured. Some very fine ale, too. Maude held the baby, while Cauthrien downed her cider, and the mob of guests passed in due course, offering their blessings and their birthing gifts. A clerk kept track of them, and they piled up impressively on a nearby table. There was quite a bit of good silver there.

Loghain watched Maude from the corner of his eye. She caught him at it.

"And no, I'm not going to steal from a baby," Maude whispered indignantly, "because that would be _tacky!"_

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Phygmalion, MsBarrows, Kira Kyuu, Josie Lange, Zute, Gene Dark, cloud1004, Dante Alighieri1308, Judy, JackOfBladesX, Thomas Blaine, RakeeshJ4, lynn-writer, Jenna53, Shakespira, Tyanilth, mille libri, Costin, mutive, KCousland, Enaid Aderyn, Tikigod784, karinfan123, Granoc, and Silent Storm._

_I am totally making up the lore about married Templars, because I find Wesley such an anomaly. Sebastian in DA2 offers a "chaste" relationship only. It seems to me inconceivable that the Templars would be allowed marriage in any normal way. A "chaste" marriage might also explain why Aveline is so totally incompetent at courtship when she falls for Donnic._

_The heavy grains of gaatlok Anders refers to are caused by a process called "corning" which improves the performance of black powder._


	38. Highever After

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 38: Highever After**

Preparations were afoot for a splendid feast that evening. The following day would witness little Caradoc's presentation in the Chantry. Loghain, as godfather, would have his part to play there. No great challenge of course: as long as he remembered the infant's name and did not drop him into the holy fire, he would acquit himself with honor. After the first rejoicings over the birth, Loghain, like many others, went back to bed to make up the lost hours of sleep.

Maude stayed to dote on the baby, but in the end returned to their room and crawled in next to him. When he awoke, she was gone, presumably to dote yet more. The servants brought him a midday meal, and he found he was ravenous.

Once he was washed and shaved, Loghain found himself prowling the halls of the castle, trying to fix the place in his mind. One never knew when one would be called upon to attack or defend a fortress, and a thorough knowledge of the fighting ground could mean life or death.

On his rambles, he came across Morrigan, who seemed to be doing much the same thing. The witch, dressed in a handsome gown as green as deathroot extract, was peering into rooms, frowning; then moving on. She looked his way, and gave him a nod of greeting.

"Satisfying your curiosity about Maude's origins?" he asked.

"There is that," she agreed, as they unconsciously fell into step with one another. "But Castle Highever looms large in my imagination for another reason. 'Tis here that the legend of Flemeth originated—at least the earliest, most colorful chapters. She was the lady of the castle, as the wife of Bann Conobar Elstan. This is where she avenged the death of the bard Osen. Perhaps she plotted her vengeance in the very room where the Teyrna had her lying-in last night. I daresay it was. Flemeth never waxed nostalgic about the place in my hearing, of course."

Loghain paused, thinking. "Is it possible that she found Maude interesting because she came from here?"

"No..." Morrigan bit her lip. "No. I do not think so. I think she found Maude interesting because she is Maude. Courtesy pleases her. And a quick wit—like that brother of Bethany's in Kirkwall. Flemeth is unimpressed by mere courage, and 'tis unwise to defy her unless your sword is very sharp indeed."

"She was certainly unimpressed with _me,"_ Loghain grunted.

"True, alas," Morrigan smirked. "You met, some years ago, she told me. She thought King Maric very pretty, and you very rude."

"That was, of course," Loghain remarked loftily, "before I became an accomplished courtier. Do you think she would like me better now?"

She laughed, delighted: a rich, musical laugh. "Perhaps it would be best not test it!"

The next stairs led up to the battlements.

"Ah!" said Morrigan with ironic satisfaction. "By all means, let us take in the view."

But once they were there, Morrigan's sarcasm was silenced, for the 'view' was very fine indeed, and in all directions. Loghain did not think of himself as a sentimentalist, but he loved his country and thought it beautiful. The town of Highever lay spread out below them, quaint and colorful. Beyond it, the silver of the Waking Sea reflected the clear sunshine of autumn. Seabirds cried shrilly overhead, soaring in a cool, salty breeze. To the west were the city walls, nestled against green hills. It was a fair sight.

There were technical issues too, to absorb and consider. Highever was a good deep water port, and there was plenty of shipping in the harbor. Loghain noted the twin forts, one on each of the headlands sheltering the harbor. They most certainly needed improvements to their defenses.

A low wall along the docks protected the city from invasion by sea. Three gates pierced it, all wide open at the moment. The wall itself was much too low, and the gates looked flimsy. Still, the defenses had caused the Orlesians to invade further east at Amaranthine, which had not had such barriers in the Blessed Age. And the treachery of Tarleton Howe had helped, of course.

"Maude is...fond...of the water," Morrigan remarked. "I have only traveled upon it the one time, on Lake Calenhad. I was too distracted by other matters to enjoy it properly. Perhaps it would be diverting, after all."

"You could," Loghain said, "trying shape-shifting into a fish."

"How droll. I believe I shall next examine the library."

"A sea dragon?" Loghain suggested, carefully not smiling, as they walked downstairs together. "A kraken?"

"Flemeth, it seems, was not altogether wrong about you..."

More and more guests were filtering in for tonight's feast. It would be held in the Great Hall, not in the usual dining hall. There were simply too many guests, and trestle tables were being set up to accommodate the well-wishers.

The library was not a bad place to seek refuge. Morrigan quickly found a large tome, and was soon seated and reading with intense concentration.

Loghain walked up and down the shelves, tracing the titles as he went. There were quite a few books here he had never seen before: quite a bit of northern myth and history. The name _"_Aldous Quincarl_"_ caught his eye. Aldous had been Maude's tutor, and apparently she had been fond of him.

The tutor's book was entitled _Clans __of __the __Coastlands,_ and appeared to be full of historical and genealogical lore. Since the Howes figured largely in it, it had been spared the fire. Loghain pulled it from the shelf, and began paging through it.

"My lord! Er—Warden-Commander!"

Loghain found himself addressed by Bann Loren, and his hopes of a quiet hour with a book were temporarily overthrown.

It was the usual thing. Groveling flattery, expressions of delight that Loghain would be the godfather of the future Teyrn of Highever. Following these were slavish promise of future service, relief that Loghain was still a power in the land, and the not-very-veiled sentiment that Loren had always backed Loghain, really.

What did the man want? His lands did not march with the Wardens. Of course, they did march with Highever, and Loren was sworn to the Couslands. As the brother-in-law of Loren's liege lord, Loghain could be presumed to have influence. Loren did not express any requests to exert said influence, so Loghain decided it was all tiresome sycophancy, and escaped as quickly as possible.

Where could he take his book? The chapel was never a good idea. He had discovered years before that if one read in an empty chapel—even in one's own empty chapel, hoping for a bit of peace— the priest would understand your presence as a desperate cry for spiritual comfort, and move in for the kill.

Reluctantly, he headed up to his assigned bedchamber, hoping the servants would not plague him.

On his way, he had another idea. The little alcove in the upper corridors was really quite a nice place to sit and read. Other guests were not being permitted into the family quarters since the birth. Loghain found a bench, opened _Clans __of__ the __Coastlands_, and looked for the name Cousland. Yes, quite a bit about the Howes and the Elstans, of course. The Couslands featured prominently starting with the Towers Age. Amusingly, the rebellion against King Arland that had cost the then-Teyrn of Highever his life was glossed over. The genealogical charts in the back of the book did give the date of the man's death, but there was nothing in the text to suggest he had sympathized with rebels. There was not even the discreet crossed swords icon that indicated death in battle.

A servant was bowing to him, full of solicitous questions. "Would the Warden-Commander care for a cup of wine? Would he care for a cushion? A plate of refreshments?"

"No, he would not," Loghain replied gruffly. "He would like to read without conversation."

Interesting conclusions could be drawn from the book. The Couslands were remarkably careful to avoid bloody family disputes. Once the heir to the teyrnir was declared, the rest of the family tended to fall into line and not attempt to challenge the decision.

Also, their relationship with the Howes was a curious study in love and hate. And rivalry. Certainly a _great_ deal of rivalry. The families had intermarried quite frequently. Of course, all the great noble families did that. It seemed that the Howes had been notified of the impending birth, but it was doubtful that they would arrive in time for the ceremony in the Chantry. More likely they would come with their gifts in a few days. They were not invited to stay in the Castle, of course. It might be generations before a Howe could expect that.

The next chapter was all about the Couslands and their politics. Loghain smirked the title. It was a famous old saying.

"_In the North, there is no King but a Cousland."_

So one of their ancestors, Teyrn Coran, had declared, when refusing to pay ship-tax to Calenhad's grandson. He had got away with it, too.

The book was vague about the Orlesian invasion and occupation as well. Yes, Bryce had fought at White River, but the Orlesians had never dispossessed the Couslands. Loghain, from what he already knew, and from reading between the lines, deduced that the Couslands had played both sides fairly successfully. The head of the family had paid homage to the Orlesian pretenders, while the heirs had carried on a flirtation with the rebels. For the most part, they had carefully maintained their power within their own teyrnir, while letting the rest of Ferelden go to the Void.

He turned the page, glad that Maude had not seen things in the same way as her grandfather. She could well have refused to travel with Duncan, and might have led Highever against Howe. Perhaps it was the shock of her family's death that had made her uncommonly docile. If she had raised her banner in the North, what would Loghain have done? Begun another, nastier phase of the civil war? Or would he have thrown Howe to the wolves? Or a bit of both?

She might well have claimed the loyalty of Alfstanna. Of Bann Frandarel, too, in his draughty, half-empty fortress. A lot of Highever nobles would have preferred her to Howe, had she made herself their leader. Loghain might well have been forced to come to terms with her.

But then who would have led them against the Blight? Loghain refused to believe that Alistair could have done it alone. Or if he had, and Maude was on _Loghain__'__s_ side, things could have turned out very badly.

Or at the least, very strangely.

The subject of his thoughts made her appearance, stalking up to the family apartments. She was dressed in plain black leathers, a nondescript helmet under her arm. Ranger came over to have his ears scratched, and was disappointed that Loghain had no treats for him.

"I thought you were still with Cauthrien."

"She's having a nap. I tried juggling to entertain the baby, but he's too little to appreciate it yet. Nursey said I wasn't to plague him, so I went for a walk through the town. Wanted to see the old place without everyone seeing _me.__"_

"And your curiosity is satisfied?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes."

She kept on walking. Ranger paused, gave Loghain a hangdog look of apology, and slunk after her. Something was troubling Maude, and she did not want to talk about it. Loghain decided he did not want to talk about it either. Howe had made changes to Highever during his tenure, and Maude could hardly be expected to like them.

Over time, the light dimmed. Fergus passed by and stopped to speak. "Time to change for dinner, I'm afraid. Interesting book?"

Loghain showed him the cover. Fergus laughed. "Full of shameless flattery. Aldous was anxious not to bite the hand that fed him. Some of the good bits are true, though."

"I couldn't quite understand how the title changed hands at the end of the Exalted Age..."

"Oh—old Jodoc Cousland. The three concurrent wives do make it confusing." Fergus laughed. "Aldous discreetly left that bit unclear. Jodoc was exercising his old tribal perquisites. Polygamy wasn't explicitly made illegal in Ferelden until the beginning of the Steel Age. By that time, the Chantry had a lot more influence in Ferelden."

"Perquisites indeed!" Loghain snorted. Multiple wives were a complication modern Ferelden certainly did not need. He shut the book and followed Fergus up to the family quarters. "Maude took a walk around Highever by herself, it seems. She was put out by something, but wouldn't stop to talk about it."

Fergus shook his head. "There have been a lot of changes, especially in the lower town. It's hard for her, I know, but there's no erasing the past."

"A lot of damage?"

"No. Not really. Here in the castle, yes. Howe men did a lot of damage when they sacked it, and it was repaired rather shoddily. However, he had the town so well invested by then that it surrendered, and there was hardly any propertly damage there at all. He changed things to suit himself, though—he'd probably been making plans for Maker knows how many years—and he didn't hesitate to do as he pleased. Here now. We'll talk later. I've got to see if Cauthrien's going to be up to attending the feast tonight."

* * *

"Cauthrien's wearing blue, of course," Maude remarked, "So I'm not."

She looked very pretty in the rose velvet gown she had worn at their wedding. Loghain had thought she disliked the gown. Perhaps, however, the fact that it had been her mother's made it appropriate in this place and at this time.

They went down with Cauthrien and Fergus. Cauthrien's arm was in her husband's, but her walk was steady and her head high. The nursemaid followed behind with tiny Caradoc in her arms. Not a wetnurse: Cauthrien had decided to nurse the child herself. Trust her to do anything very, very thoroughly.

Not that he meant to criticize Anora, even in his thoughts, but still…

Cauthrien insisted on taking the baby as they entered the Great Hall. A roar answered the sight: of approval, applause, and good wishes. Loghain glanced over at the infant, who was scowling comically, irritated at the noise. An elaborate cradle, complete with blue and white velvet pillows and coverlet, was waiting by the head table.

It went off quite well, all things considered. Cauthrien was just the least bit paler than usual, but her reserved, quiet demeanor was very much like her normal self. If anything, she smiled more than Loghain could think quite normal for her. She seemed pleased—really, deeply, profoundly pleased—to be a mother. Perhaps she had never hoped for such a thing. She was clearly pleased to be with Fergus, too.

Endless toasts were offered. Earnest, mildly drunken speeches of support were made. A truly silly song was warbled at insupportable length about little Caradoc's noble lineage and shining future.

Then Fergus stood once more, with a tipsy gleam in his eye. It was time to announce the news that would set the Crown on its ear.

"My friends! We have yet more good news to share with you! My sister and her husband, the Warden-Commander of the Grey and the Dragonslayer of Ferelden, are expecting a child themselves—the new Teyrn of Gwaren!"

There was applause of course, but also a storm of gossip and eager, speculative looks. For the Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever to produce a child was natural, expected, and perfectly proper. There was nothing unsettling in it. However, the future Teyrn of Gwaren was _news._ Perhaps not totally unexpected news, Loghain noted with a touch of surprise. Still, it meant a new piece on the Fereldan chessboard.

Of course, why would they be surprised? Loghain realized, thinking again. THey knew nothing of Grey Warden secrets. Loghain had fathered a child before, and now had done so again. The bride was young, healthy, and Cousland: presumably doing that infernal Cousland duty. But there would be surprise in Denerim: oh, yes, indeed. And as the news traveled, there would be surprise in Val Royeaux, and in Weisshaupt...

Their baser appetites sated, people got up from their benches to mingle. The musicians began tuning their instruments, adding to the din. Cauthrien and the baby took their leave, amidst more applause. Maude turned in her chair to talk to her brother.

"I was surprised," she remarked casually, "that when I turned west at Redfish Dock, I discovered the Alienage was gone. Completely gone."

Fergus glanced briefly at Loghain, and said quietly. "Howe sold all the elves, Maude. As far as I can ascertain, anyway. He sold every elf in Highever that he could lay his hands on. Made a fortune, too. I have to admit that he put quite a bit of the money back into Highever. The harbor was dredged pretty thoroughly and the Great Docks improved, if nothing else. Then he cleared the Alienage quarter right out, and started putting up those tall stone townhouses. Since the Alienage is all technically teyrnir property, they bring us in a lot of rent now. Well-to-do foreign merchants have moved in, and some shipowners, too. Banns Swyddog and Morcant bought lots from me, and then built mansions at the far end."

"Yes, I noticed," Maude said, in the same noncommittal tone. "All very handsome. Very posh. Mind you, it was so entirely posh that I thought I was in a foreign land, except for everybody calling the place 'Cousland Square.'" She told Loghain, "There's a little park in the very middle. The vhenadahl tree is still there, with fancy benches around it and a little fountain. A gaggle of merchants' wives gave my shabby leathers decidedly disapproving stares. There's quite a nice tavern in Cutthroat Alley nearby, too. Except they don't call it 'Cutthroat Alley' anymore, but 'The Strand.' The innkeeper almost didn't let me in, until I told him he really wanted to."

Fergus rolled his eyes. "I'd much rather you were patronizing an establishment in 'The Strand' than in 'Cutthroat Alley. ' It was an awful place and I can't say I'm sorry the neighborhood has changed." He told Loghain, "She talked me into taking her there, years ago, in disguise; and we were nearly robbed and murdered."

"We were not," Maude contradicted. "We could have taken those thugs. No problem. And by the way, where did the brothels go? You can't have a proper thriving seaport without brothels. It's not allowed."

"I am not," Fergus said wearily, "going to talk about brothels with my _sister.__"_

"Well, you _should,__"_ Maude insisted. "Brothels are very important in the economic life of any bustling city. In fact—"

"I think I hear Cauthrien calling me," Fergus declared, fleeing the table.

* * *

The Chantry of Our Lady of the Flaming Sword was not as large or as beautiful as that of Our Lady Redeemer in Amaranthine. It was not surprising. Our Lady Redeemer was a site of pilgrimage second only to the Cathedral in Denerim, as it was the place from which Andraste, captured by Tevinter slavers, embarked on her first, dark journey. A great deal of coin had been donated over the ages. Highever Chantry had no such compelling history.

Besides. the rather silly name of the Highever chantry forced Loghain to keep his countenance very, very carefully. The locals really would not forgive a slight or slur on their place of worship, even if the benches were full of splinters and the ceilings were alarmingly low and the windows were the size of loaves. Nearly as thick, too: the wavy green glass sullenly determined that the flames in the holy brazier would provide the only light in the place, even at burning noonday. All in all, Highever Chantry reminded him of a very large dog-kennel.

Maude—and the dogs, naturally—seemed to enjoy being here, however.

"I like her," she said, pointing at the statue. "I always have. She looks like she doesn't take crap from anybody."

That was certainly true. The Prophet's statue wore an expression more suited to a dockside bruiser than to the Bride of the Maker.

"She's got a really big sword, too," Maude declared happily.

Dressed in a dark blue doublet (since black was considered unlucky on such an occasion), Loghain was resigned to the pomp and circumstance. Maude wore blue herself, the intense cerulean blue than was slightly darker than Cauthrien's gown. Loghain was at least permitted a sword, due to yet another ridiculous old wives' tale. In his growing annoyance, he realized that carrying a serious weapon like the Keening Blade was not the best idea today. It was practically begging to be drawn.

Young Caradoc was in a fairly pugnacious mood himself. Loghain settled the fussy baby in his arms, standing before the stuffy, crowded dog-kennel. The bloody Revered Mother droned on and on, while the small face turned ominously pink: the eyes screwed shut, the tiny mouth grimacing. Loghain hoped the swaddling was good and thick.

Inevitably, the wailing began. Enraged that Loghain seemed incapable of understanding simple commands, the baby's wails crescendoed into shrieks, nearly drowning out his godfather, as Loghain called out the child's name. Not wanting to look a complete fool, Loghain maintained his most impassive demeanor, wishing it were over.

What might have seemed ill-omened in a dainty little princess was evidently judged a sign of the lad's manly and assertive nature. As far as Loghain could determine, visibility limited by the general murk and a thick haze of reeking incense, everyone was smiling indulgently. Then there was the procession to hold up the child on the Chantry steps in front of the crowd gathered there. Teyrn Fergus was extremely popular, if the turnout was any criterion.

Then, it was over. Everyone shouted and cheered, rendering the the little monster even more furious. Loghain passed him to the grinning Fergus, and the infant was blessedly whisked away by his mother and the attendant nursemaids. Loghain's work here was done.

"Ready to go home yet?" Maude whispered, and then laughed at Loghain's expression. "Me, too. Let's leave first thing tomorrow."

There was certainly no way to leave today, when simply squeezing out of the Chantry courtyard was going to take the rest of the morning. Unless, of course, he drew his sword and mowed down the cheerful mob. Probably not the best plan, since these people were allies and vassals of allies. Too bad. Where were the guards? Bloody useless, the lot of them.

And word of last night's announcement had spread. Everyone was coming up to congratulate him, or congratulate Maude, or both of them. They were staring at Maude's belly, trying in vain to make out a bump behind the asymmetrical folds of bright blue velvet. Some ladies actually touched her there, causing Maude to step back, bemused. She laughed it off, but Loghain could tell that she disliked them taking the liberty.

Bann Alfstanna was right there beside him, her keen gaze knowing and significant.

"Do the King and Queen know that Gwaren has its lord?"

Loghain tried being politely evasive. "Gwaren will not have its lord until he is actually born. If all goes well, that will be some time in Drakonis."

"This birth is so important to the stability of Ferelden," Alfstanna remarked. "Her Grace the Regent has been so very busy—so energetic about traveling here and there. She seems as high-spirited as ever, but one hopes she will not exhaust herself. "

"Yes, one does," Loghain said flatly. "If we can ever get out of the courtyard, I plan to take her home and see that she gets some rest."

Another feast, more music, more infernal gossip, more meaningful glances and smirks and nods and winks until Loghain really did consider calling out the lot of them. Maude was dealing with it better than he, smiling and sunny, chatting about baby linen. She listened with perfect equanimity to the horror stories of death in childbirth, suffering in pregnancy, and children born without fingers or arms or legs or heads. Or with two heads. Loghain shook his own, wondering if this was some vicious rite of passage women inflicted on one another. How could it possibly help to be told these ghastly things?

* * *

The guests trickled out of Highever, but Maude and Loghain stayed long enough to give Fergus a complete, considered scheme for improving Highever's defenses, including those of the harbor. In addition to the gifts for the baby, they would leave a puppy behind. Ears had taken to Cauthrien, and seemed to want to spend all of her time crouched at the baby's cradle. Maude seemed pleased at the prospect of such another guardian at Highever, and the dogs themselves accepted it as the natural and proper order of things.

The arrangements for the loan was hammered out. Mistress Woolsey might raise her brows, but the Wardens _would_ lend the money. Highever was a neighbor, and the Wardens needed it to be well-defended. That should be enough for the woman. If it was not—well, she would be sent home to Tantervale in short order.

Once Anders finished giving his final instructions for the health of mother and child—and after the requisite number of bows and embraces and promises to visit—they rode away from the castle and the town at a good pace. Maude paused only once, high on the bluffs overlooking the sea, and looked back over Highever behind them. Then she turned her horse's head and rode on.

"I can't wait to be home!" she declared.

However strange it might seem for an ancient Grey Warden fortress to be there home, so it was, indeed. And it was bloody impressive. Loghain felt the familiar thrill of possessive satisfaction when at last they emerged from the tunnels and saw the fortress piercing the sky above them.

Everyone was happy to see them. Some in fact, were fairly noisy about it.

"Boss!" Oghren rumbled, surging toward Maude like a drowning man at a raft. "You've got to help me! I can't take much more..."

"Neither can I!" shouted Felsi, storming up behind him. "His snoring keeps Maddie awake all night! Do something, or I swear I'll cut off his nose! At least!"

Loghain rolled his eyes and left Maude to mediate the dispute. He sought their treasurer and laid out his plan. To his relief, after a few searching questions, Mistress Woolsey acquiesced to their loan arrangements, accepting that the Teyrn of Highever was likely a very reliable debtor, and that Loghain's reasons were sufficient.

* * *

They settled into a pleasant routine at Soldier's Peak, planning their next order of business, which was a recruiting drive. Two days after their return from Highever, the Wardens gathered in the War Room to organize it.

"Keenan will lead the party," Loghain declared. "Partly because I trust him, and partly because the major thrust of the drive is to find a number of very talented archers. Keenan is best able to judge their quality."

Telamon nodded. "More archers would be good. The more darkspawn we can deal with at long range, the larger numbers as a whole we can destroy."

Keenan's eyes were alight with the possibility. "I could hold some archery contests," he suggested. "We could offer some prizes, maybe, to attract more attention, and I could say openly I'm looking for Wardens. A lot of common folk are poor and displaced. Being a Warden with a roof over your head and food to eat would be a prize in itself. And we'll continue to accept men—"

Maude and Sigrun cleared their throats very emphatically. Keenan glanced at them.

"—and women— with families, won't we?"

Loghain gave a grudging nod. "For now, yes. We'll see how it works out. Some families might be given homes in Breaker's Cove."

"I think contests and prizes are a very good idea," Maude said. "It's a way of making the Wardens look very prestigious. We have chests and chests of lovely loot, after all. Maybe silver cups or medallions would do. In fact, let's give more than one prize. First, second, and third. What fun! I'll work on that. Keenan, think about how many contests you'll hold and where."

"Anders," Loghain said grimly, "while I understand your reluctance, it's something that you can do best. The Circle owes us a recruit. Or two if you can manage it."

Maude squeezed her eyes shut, remembering. "Duncan told me that the Circle has a policy of only one Circle mage for the Grey Wardens at a time."

"I don't care about their bloody policy," Loghain snapped. "And we did not recruit Anders from the Circle. I want a mage from them. Find the best, most qualified mages you can and conscript them outright. Neither the Circle nor the Templars can contest that. It's best to do it now, while people still remember the Blight and we have a little residual good will. In a year or two, they'll be asking what the Wardens did for them lately!"

"You are so cynical, Loghain," Maude beamed. "I love that about you."

He snorted, and went on with the plan. "I don't want to send any of the rest of you mages, because I want the Circle to know as little as possible about you. While the recruiting party is gone, we will probe the Deep Roads closest to us and revise our maps as needed."

"So who's going with Anders and Keenan?" Valentine asked eagerly.

"Me," Oghren grunted. "Maybe I'll get some peace and quiet that way."

Maude clucked her tongue in disapproval. "I've assigned Felsi her own cottage, Oghren. We'll be moving her out in a day or two."

"That won't keep her from ragging on me," the dwarf grunted. "I need to get _away."_

Loghain took the offer seriously. "If you like, and if you think you can stay mostly sober, all right. I'd like the party to travel to Orzammar. King Bhelen does not seem eager to lose to the flower of the nobility to the Grey Wardens, so recruit in Dust Town instead. Sigrun, do you want to go?"

She thought a moment, and shook her head. "No. I've seen enough of the place. But I think that Fimo here should go. He's never seen Orzammar at all."

"Very well. And I want you, Telamon, to go. We need more elves. If you come across any Dalish on the journey, see what you can do. I'm not asking you to go south to the Dalish territory, mind you. Perhaps that's best kept for a separate visit. However, I'll leave it to your judgment. Now to our Deep Roads expedition..."

This was the tricky part. Maude was not pleased to discover that she would be left behind, in command of Soldier's Peak, while the balance of the Wardens explored the Roads beneath Amaranthine, and saw if the dwarves had made any progress with Kal Hirol.

"Bethany already has some experience with the Deep Roads. She will remain with Maude, along with Valentine. We cannot risk our entire force, and someone must continue to administer our desmesne. Morrigan will teach Sketch about using magic in the Deep Roads, as her knowledge is greater than anyone else's."

Morrigan scowled at him. "Do not think to flatter me, Loghain!"

"I do not," Loghain assured her coolly. "It is the truth."

"And when," Maude asked, narrowing her eyes, "do you intend to return?"

"I hope to spend no more than three weeks there, exploring and mapping. As to the recruiting party, I want you all back here by the end of Firstfall. Another reason not to go far south at this time of year. Do what you can, and bring us back mages and archers above all. Anyone else is useful, of course."

After the meeting, they were met by a servant, with news that letters had come for Her Grace and Warden Bethany.

"By ship...from the Free Marches!" the servant rattled on. "From all the way across the Waking Sea, they are..."

"What fun!" Maude said indulgently, already opening the sealed parchment. "Oh! From Varric! It's a splendid thing to correspond with the greatest gossip in all Kirkwall."

Bethany's letters were from her mother and brother—one much thicker than the other. She took them and disappeared into the Mage's Tower. Maude flung herself back into her chair in the War Room to read hers. She started to laugh almost as soon as she broke the seal.

So they had much to talk about over dinner. Loghain was discussing archery with Keenan, and caught Maude's Kirkwall gossip with half an ear.

"Varric told you about Aveline's marriage?" Bethany asked her eagerly. "Mother was there and described everything in detail, especially the clothes, of course. Aveline wore a gown!"

That made Maude burst out laughing again. "That just sounds _wrong._ Yes, Varric was at the wedding, but he didn't describe the clothing."

"A gown!" Bethany repeated. "A yellow gown. And a string of pearls in her hair. Mother says she looked quite lovely...and very dignified. And Donnic wore a dark brown doublet. Of course it was back to armor the next day, and now Mother is after Adam to marry suitably."

"What will Isabela say to that?" Maude wondered. "Oh, I know. She won't care a bit. Does your mother have any young ladies in mind?"

"She does! It's sort of peculiar really. The Comte de Launcet has two daughters..." She made a face, not quite laughing. "...Fifi and Babette. Yes. They're just that ridiculous! What makes it so peculiar is that the Comte de Lancet was once betrothed to Mother, before she ran off with Father. Adam doesn't say anything about the girls, so I'm sure he's just ignoring everything Mother says, which is the sort of thing he does. There was a son, but he's a mage, so Babette and Fifi will get everything. And the Comte is disgustingly rich."

"What hideous names!"

"Well, the Comtesse goes by the name 'Dulci,' so you know she has no taste. It's really Dulcinea. And the girls' names are really Barbarella and Sophinisba, which are no improvement. They're pretty enough. I've seen them, but they're really..."

Loghain had heard enough_. "...Orlesian,"_ he broke in. Keenan mirrored his look of disgust. The young archer had not recovered from his wife's betrayal.

Maude and Bethany laughed, and went back to their talk.

"Mother's so happy to be living in the family home, of course, and she told me to thank you again for that, Maude," Bethany said. "Adam likes it, too, though he doesn't describe everything the way mother does. It's just a relief not to feel they're intruders and a terrible burden. Mother asked Uncle Gamlen if he would like to move back to the estate with them, but he's so independent! He told her he always hated it there, and that's she welcome to it. She visits him once a week, though."

Maude said, "Varric doesn't give the impression that Adam has settled down to being a gentlemen of leisure. There was more trouble at the mine..."

Loghain had been hoping for more of substance. He interrupted. "And what does your correspondent say about the Qunari?"

"Ew!" Bethany exclaimed. "I can't stand them!"

Maude shrugged. "Varric says that things are still in the same impossible stalemate. There's talk that some elements in the Chantry are rousing public sentiment against them. Merrill told him that some elves have been talking about the Qun, thinking they'd be better off ruled by the Qunari than by humans. Unless the elf is a mage, of course."

Sketch made bold to ask, "And where do the Qunari stand on mages?"

"They put them on leashes and sew their mouths shut," Bethany shot back. " Maude knows it's true. She's seen it."

"I have not _seen_ it," Morrigan spoke up, her voice hard, "but that Qunari who traveled with us during the Blight used to tell me of it. They think we are monsters and should be treated like cattle. No. No mage has anything to hope for amongst the Qunari."

"And that matters," Maude pointed out, "because no matter how bad the Circle is, the alternative of the Qunari is worse for Kirkwall's mages. If the Qunari tried to take the city, the mages would rise up against them."

Anders got up and paced restlessly. "Maybe they should rise up all the way! They should get rid of the Qunari and the Templars, too!"

Valentine was a little shocked. Darrow and Kain exchanged a look, expressive of their opinion of passionate and politically-minded young men.

Loghain dismissed the idea of the mages rising in such a way. "They could not possibly fight both at the same time. And if they tried to take control of Kirkwall themselves, they'd be facing an Exalted March in very short order. If the Knight-Commander is too hard on them, they should get rid of her and see if the problems straighten themselves out!"

* * *

More letters came before the departure for the Deep Roads. Indeed, Loghain had been expecting these particular letters, and had decided to wait for them.

A letter from Anora to himself, and a letter from Alistair to Maude. They went to the privacy of their bedchamber to read them.

Maude broke the seal and read Alistair's ramblings aloud.

_"'Dear Maude,' _he says. 'Blah-blah-blah weather. Blah-blah-blah baby talk." Her face darkened.

"'_Heard about your exciting news. Who's the father? Just joking. Ha-ha-ha-ha. Really, just joking. I wasn't all that surprised, of course, because you always seem to know how to get what you want. Anora was a lot more surprised than I was, but she doesn't know you as well as I do.'"_

Maude looked up from the letter, her face a study of incredulity. "I'm not sure I believe that Alistair, King of Ferelden, just wrote a paragraph this offensive to the woman who put his worthless arse on the throne."

"He did, actually," Loghain pointed out helpfully, not surprised at such foolishness. He rather liked the idea of a permanent wedge between Maude and that idiot. "But of course it's all in fun, so I suppose if you take offense, it would indicate a deficient sense of humor on your part."

She looked at him, black eyes burning, and then she snapped the letter up and began reading again.

_"'Once I thought about it, I realized it was for the best. Now that she's done the whole having-a-baby thing, Anora isn't too excited about doing it again, though she's says we're going to. Before, she said she was going to have three children, but having Rhoswyn was really, really hard on her. So maybe just one more. Anyway, Rhoswyn will have another friend and playmate her own age, and Gwaren will have a ruler of good old Cousland lineage. I've heard what terrific work Fergus has been doing in Highever. He's a fine fellow.'"_

"So he's still saying that my child is a bastard, but that's perfectly all right because any bastard of mine is still a Cousland."

"I daresay he prefers that to the child being mine," said Loghain.

Maude looked very much like she had eaten a keg of pickles, but she soldiered on through the letter.

_"'I hope you're not feeling too sick. Anora got sick a lot. What are you going to name it? How about Duncan? I really like that name. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha._

_All the best-_

_Your king,_

_Alistair'"_

Maude took a deep, deep breath. "Dear Alistair. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. From the woman is going to make you suffer in ways you will not believe, Maude."

"He's a fool," Loghain said, opening his own letter. He read it through quickly, not saying a word of it aloud. It was definitely the wise thing to do.

_My dear Father-_

_Congratulations, of course, on your expected child. At your age it must be more daunting than pleasant, but of course you will do your duty. I daresay Maude will deal with it all, and leave you to your responsibilities as Warden-Commander._

_I do not know if you are aware of this, but I think it my duty to tell you. One hears all sorts of things as Queen of Ferelden, and it is my understanding that Grey Wardens had great difficulty begetting or conceiving children, and that it is practically impossible for two Grey Wardens together to do so. I just thought you should be informed. Not that I am accusing Maude of anything, but you really should be on your guard. She has been traveling a great deal lately, and all sorts of things can happen when in a large city where one is unknown. The purpose of my plan for Gwaren was that a child of both of you should inherit. That is the condition of the proposal. A child of Maude alone would not actually be eligible, you see._

_Rhoswyn is in perfect health, and the nurse tells me she is developing well and doing everything a child of her age is supposed to do. She will be starting solid food soon, which is an important stage. Alistair continues to dote upon her, which is odd, but not unpleasant. His behavior to me is quite satisfactory as well._

_Sincere affection and congratulations,_

_Your daughter,_

_Anora_

"So?" Maude asked, her voice light on the surface, but charged with suppressed anger. "Everything all right with the baby? And what about this 'surprise' she's feeling? Does she say anything more about it?"

Loghain thought swiftly, and decided it would be a very, very bad mistake for Maude to ever see this letter. He folded it carefully and forced himself to appear unconcerned, "Mostly about Rhoswyn and her progress, which I'm informed is most satisfactory. She mentions our child, of course, and gives her congratulations, but obviously expects me to be as neglectful a father as I was in her youth. I wonder if it will offend her if I am not?"

Maude was watching him like a cat with a mouse. Loghain hoped his deception was good enough. She smiled sweetly, still watching him.

"But Alistair said that Anora was 'surprised' that we were having a child. I realize that she must know something of the difficulties related the Grey Wardens, but he really shouldn't blab Warden secrets to her." She considered the matter. "All the more reason never to tell him anything more."

Loghain did not trust Alistair not to blab, especially as his relationship with Anora was so very _'satisfactory.' _"I believe you're right. No more Warden secrets for the King."

"Good." She cocked her head. "You're not going to let me see that letter, are you?"

"No."

"I won't fight with you about it." She kissed the top of his head. "I'm off to help Felsi settle into her new quarters."

Loghain waited until Maude's footsteps had faded away before throwing Anora's letter in the fire. He then readied parchment and ink and wrote a reply, wishing he could dip the quill in acid. The letter would be a mixture of truth, disingenuous equivocation, and outright lies, but it had to be written.

_Anora-_

_I received your latest missive. I read it, and then destroyed it. Maker forbid that its contents were to become known. I have taken care that Maude will never see it. The speculations you offer are wrong, offensive, and unworthy of you. Do not share such ludicrous conjectures with any one else, and I include the King in that. Do you not understand how Maude would respond to a slur on her honor and a threat to her child? If you do not, perhaps you should hear a few more of Alistair's tales of their adventures. Do you think she would be afraid to confront you? When has she ever been afraid to confront anyone?_

_As to His Majesty's letter, which she has just read aloud to me: it might have been meant in jest, but it has hurt Maude deeply to be attacked at what should be a happy moment in her life. I will say no more about it._

_I do not owe you any details, but it is a fact that Maude was pregnant at the time of Rhoswyn's birth. We wished to say nothing at the time, because it seemed inappropriate to call attention away from the blessed and momentous arrival of an heir to the throne. Yes, we had our difficulties, but Anders is a mage and a Healer equal to and perhaps superior to Wynne. At this point, I am certainly much more conversant with Grey Warden lore than your husband, so your helpful hints are no news to me. However, there is no doubt that I am the father. Put any other thoughts from your mind at once. Above all, do not go out of your way to foolishly make a mortal enemy out of a valued friend and supporter. And don't let that husband of yours indulge in any reckless loose talk._

_You made the situation in Gwaren a linchpin of your bid for the Arling of Denerim. How can you claim to be surprised that we are expecting a child? Maude—and I—took your proposal as a plea for assistance. She had not thought seriously about an heir, as she had been warned of the difficulties, but once you made that demand of us. we were was determined to do everything possible to further your domestic policies. You did not need the problem of ugly rumors and accusations of double-dealing from the Bannorn that would arise from Gwaren having no ruler. _

_So the child will be born sometime in Drakonis. I will acknowledge my son without doubt or hesitation. He will be the Teyrn of Gwaren and a loyal support to your throne—and Rhoswyn's, I trust. _

_Your exasperated father,_

_Loghain _

He hoped that this letter would put paid to Anora's suspicions. It was too much to hope that it would stop her from plotting.

* * *

_Thanks for your reviewers: Phygmalion, Kira Kyuu, Juliafied, cloud1004, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Zute, Guile, Shakespira, mille libri, Jyggilag, Enaid Aderyn, Evil Elven Ice Queen, riverdaleswhiteflash, Tyanilth, and Aryk von Straln._

_"No King but a Cousland" is derived from a medieval saying about the family name of the Earls of Northumberland, also lords in the North (though in this case, of England): "No Prince but a Percy."_


	39. The Flagon with the Dragon

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 39: The Flagon With the Dragon**

It seemed to Loghain that he was in the Deep Roads for a long, long time.

Fortunately, he had Sigrun with him, and her stone sense gave measure to the days without sun. They carried more with them than usual. A small lap desk, nicely fitted out with parchment, quills, measuring tools, and ink, was in Darrow's pack. In the desk were copies of their maps of the Deep Roads. The party was engaged in correcting, refining, improving those maps in the area closest to Soldier's Peak: Amaranthine and eastern Highever. It was a start on a project dear to Loghain's heart: hunting down and destroying the darkspawn hiding under the soil of Ferelden.

The more he thought about it, the more it galled Loghain that this threat had been allowed to exist. A parallel word menaced them, lurking malignantly beneath their own. Not the benign world of the dwarves, a symbiotic arrangement between two sovereign peoples; but something loathsome and vile, an infection that had festered unchallenged for hundreds of years. It galled him even more to remember that he had known of it—experienced it for himself—but had never done anything himself in his days as Teyrn or Chancellor or Regent. Like everyone else, he had accepted the existence of darkspawn as inevitable but irrelevant.

Knowing what he knew now, the world had changed for him; but it did not seem to have changed for anyone else. Everyone was still trapped in the same mindset: the darkspawn were an intrinsic part of their world: a diseased limb that no one had the courage to amputate. The letters he received from the other Warden posts indicated that it was all business as usual: maintain their numbers, patrol for training, and if darkspawn troubled the surface, hunt them down.

_Why not do more?_ Why not make a concerted attempt to destroy the creatures: to take the fight to them, to eradicate their breeding grounds and their lairs? Somewhere, someone must make a beginning. Loghain had decided it was high time for a comprehensive mapping of the underworld within Ferelden borders—and maybe even a little beyond.

In Orzammar, they had copied the dwarves' maps. In the Warden's ancient library, a number of books told the story as it stood two hundred years before. His adventures in Amaranthine, however, had taught Loghain that the darkspawn had wrought major changes to the dwarves' elegant routes. A connecting tunnel here, a destroyed bridge there, and beyond an ambush. The general shape of the territory was the same, but essential details had altered over time.

He led his party to Drake's Fall, first of all. The place was empty of darkspawn, and the Taint could be cleansed by fire. Sketch's elven eyes were wide and wary in his first lengthy experience of life underground, but it was comparatively benign: a few deepstalkers, a few spiders, some withered darkspawn corpses.

Nor was there a great deal of treasure. Maude had been very thorough on their previous visits. Nonetheless, Sigrun cheerfully undertook the recruits' training in the ways of supplementing the quarterly stipend. Osbeck and Brangel seemed to enjoy it, so that was all to the good. Morrigan, on the other hand, was at her most sarcastic. Loghain would have teased her about missing Anders, had he been the sort to tease about such a thing, or she the sort who would take such teasing without mayhem. Topaz, of course, trotted along happily wherever her friend Loghain chose to go. Her last unattached puppy, Onyx, was weaned now, and staying with his sire at Soldier's Peak.

With a great deal of backtracking and patient maze-walking, they found the tunnel that had replaced a collapsed portion of the Deep Roads: the way underground to Kal' Hirol from Drake's Fall.

* * *

There they met dwarves.

_"Atrast vala,_ Grey Wardens!"

It was a friendly meeting, to be sure. Orzammar was on extremely good terms with the Wardens. The commander of the expedition, Jerthik Meino, listened to their stories of the initial rediscovery, and shared some tales of his own. The battling phantoms were fading as the Taint receded and more and more of the thaigs became habitable. It was slow and painstaking work, removing the malodorous crust of darkspawn ages, but progress was being made. Loghain was pleased at the existence of a dwarven stronghold here. It was yet another weapon in the fight against the darkspawn.

"It was too bad about the the treasury," Commander Jerthik grumbled. "We had hoped—but it had evidently been cleared out when the thaig evacuated. Still, it is a worthy thing to recover the great engineering discoveries that lay buried here. A great thing for the dwarves."

Loghain nodded gravely, his face blank. Sigrun's expression was one of childlike innocence. The ancient treasures of Kal' Hirol were locked away in the vaults of Soldier's Peak, and there they would stay. Morrigan's smirk was perhaps too telling. Loghain changed the subject and asked for the news from Orzammar.

"Well," said the dwarf. "King Bhelen isn't afraid of new things! Do you know that some of my people are casteless...?" he grimaced, noticing Sigrun's facial tattoos. "—and a few are surfacers. The King insisted on it. They might never be accepted in Orzammar, but the king feels that Kal'Hirol can do things its own way." His uneasy glance met Loghain's impassive gaze.

_Or Bhelen's way. _Loghain understood the man well enough.

"So, in a way," the dwarf continued, "Nobody here is casteless. Short-handed as we are, everyone has a place, and work to do..."

Yes, they had found and fought darkspawn, but the creatures were comparatively few in number: severely weakened by the end of the Blight, and also perhaps, by the odd civil war that the Architect had instigated among their kind. They had found no more intelligent darkspawn—on this journey, at least. That did not mean that there _were_ no more.

The dwarven commander saw the sense in Loghain's ideas for a series of barriers door along what the dwarves called the Amgarrack Road. It was the long passage that stretched all the way from Orzammar to Kal Hirol. If that one stretch of Deep Roads could be made safe, it would do much for the dwarves.

Of course it was complicated: dozens of other roads and tunnels, official and makeshift, branched from it. Progress had been made in retaking a number of the old abandoned thaigs. Aeducan Thaig, thanks in part to the Wardens, was secure. Ortan Thaig could be ventured into with reasonable safety by a strong force. The adventurers in Kal Hirol were in much more precarious circumstances, but they were close to the Ferelden Wardens. Loghain could see the advantage in helping them tighten their control of the settlement, and also start reaching west to Orzammar, while Orzammar reached east to them.

In the meantime, Loghain would copy the friendly dwarves' maps, discovering the passages that had allowed the Architect to travel from the silverite mines of Amaranthine all the way to Drake's Fall.

Wanting to verify the maps' accuracy for himself. Loghain led his party through a twisting tunnel, going further east. As marked, there was a broad underground river, still spanned by the remains of an ancient bridge, the shallow arches noble in decay. So much of the structure was gone that they had to cross it in single file, but it served its purpose. A little beyond was a corridor that branched off their path. Standing at the tunnel's narrow mouth, Loghain picked up a strong sensation of darkspawn. Their time was limited, so Loghain marked it on the map, and they moved on.

After a long sleep, they continued east. Eventually they found another side tunnel, which took them into large, finished chambers.

"I know this place!" Sigrun declared. "This is the back end of the Architect's hideout! Remember those dragons we ate, Loghain? They were tasty."

Brangel grimaced. Osbeck looked very impressed.

They rounded a corner, opened a door—

"Andraste's smelly socks!" shouted a complete stranger. He took a look at the grim party of Wardens, threw down the pick he was carrying, and then turned to run. "Bandits!" he yelped "Bandits in the mine!"

It was sorted out fairly quickly. The mine was being worked again, and the men here were employed by the Arlessa of Amaranthine. Neither the foremen nor his men were thrilled to learn that their mine connected to the Deep Roads. Loghain, of course, was greeted with respect, and some trepidation.

"Nobody questions the right of the Grey Wardens to go anywhere they like underground, of course," the foreman assured him hastily. "Are you going to Vigil's Keep, my lord?"

"Call me Warden-Commander," Loghain corrected wearily, for what felt like the thousandth time. "No. We will camp here and head back the way we came. We are searching the Deep Roads under Amaranthine for darkspawn lairs."

The man's eyes were very, very wide.

"Er...good luck with that, my lord Commander, and Maker turn his gaze on you!"

Morrigan sneered at the fool, and spoke quietly to Loghain.

"I cannot endure another night underground," she informed him. "Live like a deepstalker if you will, but I must have the wind in my face and the leaves under my feet tonight. Can we not camp at the mouth of the mine?"

"We can."

It was only the one night, and Loghain sympathized, anyway. He remembered this whole area in the Wending Wood as being rather attractive, when it was not overrun by darkspawn. The miners, they discovered, were served by a sutler who was willing to trade with Loghain for some fresh food and a keg of decent ale. They made camp in the shelter of the mine entrance, and built up a good fire.

Loghain stepped out into the open air, admiring the dark green of the pines, and the beauty of the landscape. With so many trees bare of leaf, he could make out in the distance two of the many ancient votive statues erected nearby. Meanwhile, between them, Kain and Sketch concocted a fairly edible rabbit stew. Sufficient food, plus the good ale, cheered the Wardens' spirits, Loghain was pleased to see. Maybe his own, too—a _little_—he reflected, drinking deeply. Morrigan drained her cup, and then strolled through the doorway, brushing past him.

"I shall return...later..." she murmured.

She transformed into a she-wolf and vanished into the night, to the delight of Topaz, who immediately set off in pursuit, glad of the chance to play.

"That's pretty disturbing," Kain remarked. "Always sets my teeth on edge, like."

"Could be worse," grunted Darrow. "Wolves are all right. Glad she can't do a snake. Can't abide snakes."

Osbeck sat at the fire beside Loghain, thinking over what he had seen.

"She is a mighty witch. It is good to have one of such power allied with us."

Loghain shrugged. "She is a Warden. Like you. Like me."

Osbeck frowned. "For now. Witches cannot be taken for granted."

Sigrun wandered out a little way, looking up at the sky filled with stars.

"It's so pretty," she sighed with satisfaction. "Don't you ever with you could catch a star and keep it in a box?"

"I'm sure Maude would like one," Loghain allowed, "but she'd probably want it set in gold and wear it as jewelry."

The men laughed, nodding. Sigrun eventually yielded to the night and curled up under a blanket. Morrigan and Topaz did not return to camp until much later. They trotted in, panting, and threw themselves down on either side of Loghain, asleep in moments.

Loghain awoke briefly, saw what was keeping him so warm, and went back to sleep with a snort. It was no one else's business if Morrigan preferred sleeping in wolf form. He knew when he was well off. Just as long as no one blabbed to Anders or Maude about him sleeping with Morrigan, everything should be all right…

* * *

They lingered over breakfast the following day, making new plans.

"Can we go Denerim by way of the Deep Roads?" Sketch asked.

Kain liked that idea. "Keep us out of the cold and wet, it would."

"No," Loghain said briefly, disappointing them. "It can't be done. The Deep Roads don't come anywhere near Denerim—at least as far as we know now."

It had disappointed Loghain, too, months ago, when he discovered that there was no way to enter Denerim by way of the Deep Roads. Then he immediately rebuked himself. Had there been such a way, the darkspawn would have used it during the Blight, and probably would have attacked much sooner—long before the allies were gathered and Ferelden was prepared to defend itself. They could have burst up from the courtyard of the palace itself, unheralded. The horror of such imaginings made Loghain take a number of deep breaths. Why torture himself like this? The only city in all Ferelden that could accessed directly by the Deep Roads was Gwaren, which for unknown reasons the darkspawn had not assailed. Of course, the route to Gwaren had been cleared out very thoroughly, thirty years before, by Loghain himself, with Rowan, Maric, and the Legion of the Dead.

Well, that raised an interesting question, one which he discussed with his Wardens.

"How well do the darkspawn know the Deep Roads?" he wondered. "They live in them, yes, but do they _know_ them? With the exceptions of freaks like the Architect, the darkspawn do not read or write. They do not make maps. Perhaps if they have not wandered into a branch of the Deep Roads, it is unknown to them."

"That could be," Morrigan considered. "'Tis the Old Gods who call to the darkspawn. If a tunnel or corridor is not in the path to the Old God, there would be little reason for the darkspawn to explore it."

"They've been down there for a thousand years," Sigrun pointed out. "It gives them plenty of time to bumble in everywhere. If there were a new tunnel somewhere, that would be different. Or a Road that was already cleared out really thoroughly."

"Yes," Loghain considered, thinking. That could certainly explain Gwaren. He must explore that route and see if his theory was correct. The exit was at the end of a tunnel, by the sea. The darkspawn had not been called there during the Blight, and their population would not spread there by normal means. If the Wardens could clear out enough of the Deep Roads under Ferelden, and have the dwarves build more barrier doors, they might be able to push them out from under the country altogether. He smirked, picturing the darkspawn ejected across the border, like a good housekeeper flicks dust out the door. All the surviving darkspawn deported to Orlais... It was a bold dream, but why have any other kind?

Sigrun leaned over for a glimpse of the map. "Where next?"

"We'll need to go home soon," Darrow pointed out to Loghain, "Or your lady will have our hides."

"We'll head north and west," Loghain decided. "We'll see if the barrier doors are all right under Vigil's Keep. We'll trace the pathway that leads back to Drake's Fall this time. If that's clear, we'll know we've wiped out most of the darkspawn under Amaranthine."

Of course, to make certain of that, they needed to discover and destroy any Broodmothers in the general area. That was definitely on his list, but perhaps it was a mission for another time.

* * *

More time passed; more maps were corrected; straggling bands of darkspawn were engaged and destroyed. They traced their way to Vigil's Keep and found the barrier doors intact. On this side of them, it was impossible to come up through the castle dungeons, which was just as well, probably, for Arlessa Delilah's peace of mind. Loghain reminded himself to write to her on his return home. There was still the matter of Amaranthine's defenses to discuss.

He missed Maude. He felt the lack of her increasingly. He regretted that these men were not experiencing the fun and adventure of traveling with her and hearing her opinions on everything. Not that he imagined her having the least difficulty administering the desmesne, but he hoped she would have nothing to particularly distress her while he was gone. He hoped heartily that Their Majesties would send no more of their insupportable letters—at least not until they had given some thought to their manners.

How were the recruiters faring? Loghain was faintly anxious about how Anders would be treated at the Circle. As a Grey Warden he should be beyond its control, but he suspected those in power there would still have the power to be quite unpleasant to him. He made a mental note to create another recruiting itinerary, this time down through Redcliffe and on to the Dalish lands.

Morrigan was growing sulky again. Long periods beneath the surface really did not agree with her. It was something to consider when making any future plans. And it could be that she was missing Anders. Her lover did a great deal to even her temper—or at least give her a focused target for it. As always when she was out of spirits, she resorted to animal forms more frequently. Being a bird in the Deep Roads was not ideal, and so Loghain often found a wolf padding just behind him. Topaz was not at all jealous, and seemed to like the companionship. It was useful, too: a Grey Warden in wolf form could not only sense the darkspawn, she could smell them. That proved extremely useful, when they encountered a large band of darkspawn in a narrow tunnel deep under the Feravel Plains.

They almost lost Kain there; and would have if Sigrun had been slower. But she, the brave girl, was in, axes whirling, hewing down the hurlock at the knees. Morrigan was not much of a Healer, but she was good for one solid, all-purpose healing spell, that at least stopped Kain's bleeding and alleviated his headache. They followed the tunnel to a big cavern and found an unmapped branch tunnel that descended on a steep grade and reeked of darkspawn. A lot of darkspawn. Loghain marked it on the map, too.

"We should not linger here," Morrigan whispered urgently. Sigrun and the lads were racing around the chamber, whooping at their finds. Darkspawn had lived here for some time, and had quite the collection of trophies here: human leg bones and skulls, but also the shiny things that they seem to fancy: coin and jewelry and other trinkets. And then, from a broken chest, Kain drew out an astonishing gold drinking vessel in the form of a sleeping dragon curled in on itself. After the first, jaw-dropping astonishment, they dug deeper, and in the chest they found other golden items: rings, brooches, bracelets, and a neck torque with bulls on the finials.

"I am no antiquarian," said Morrigan, "but this is all very old indeed. The chasings are elegant, but of a time before the kingdom of Ferelden existed."

"Not Tevinter, either," Sketch chimed in. "More like the old Alamarri style, but a lot better than any of their things I've ever seen."

"The cup's pretty, innit?" remarked Darrow. "Be a shame to melt it down. Reckon her ladyship would like it a lot."

Well, truer words were never spoken. Loghain briefly made some generous arrangements with his party, and the amazing vessel fell to his lot.

Sigrun was dwarf enough to respond particularly strongly to the allure of gold. She stared at the object in wonder. "We should use it for the Joining cup," she said solemnly. "Always."

"Indeed we should!" Morrigan agreed briskly. "The Joining potion tarnishes silver. This would be far more practical."

They loaded up their treasures, and moved away. Loghain threw a backwards glance at the descending tunnel. It had a nasty feel to it. They walked until they were weary, for he felt it was a good idea to stay far from that place until they could come back with a very large force indeed.

By the time they made camp, Morrigan was in a bad mood again, not even cheered by her new gold baubles. She dropped her pack abruptly and shifted into her wolf form, padding about and growling softly. Topaz whined and licked her face. The wolf growled again, and found a corner to curl up in, her back to her companions. Sigrun kindly put her rations on a tin plate and set them down beside her, while the rest ate. Morrigan did not deign to touch them until the party was asleep and snoring. Loghain remained on watch, smirking faintly when the wolf quietly got up and ate. He dug out some dried smoke sausage and added it to the plate. After a moment of haughty bristling, the wolf gave in and ate that, too.

"We'll be home tomorrow, with any luck," Loghain said soothingly.

The wolf gazed at him so despondently that Loghain patted his knee. She crept over and put her head in his lap. After awhile she dozed, lulled by the pleasure of having her ears scratched.

* * *

They eventually emerged from the ruins of Drake's Fall into a white world of premature winter. A thin layer of snow had softened the harsh terrain outside the ruined fortress; frost glinted from tree branches and withered weeds.

Loghain blinked at the unaccustomed light. The position of the sun jolted him back into the natural, orderly rhythms of surface time, telling him that it was late morning. It was theoretically only a half-day's journey from Drake's Fall to Soldier's Peak, but today they would be trudging through snow.

It was not unbearably cold, but obviously much colder than it had been the Deep Roads, where there was no weather and the temperature was always mild. Cloaks were unpacked and donned hastily.

"We'll be at the Peak before dark," Loghain said. "Get moving."

"Or I could just fly home," Morrigan muttered, yellow eyes taking in the open sky with wistful longing.

"Or not," Loghain said, with a significant look at her pack. He was not carrying it for her, and he was not allowing her to cozen anyone else to do it either. Sigrun was so sweet-tempered she would probably do it, but it was not _fair. __  
_

Morrigan turned up her nose at him, daring him to say anything about the night before; but fell into step quickly enough, slinging her pack over her shoulder, drawing up her hood to cover her dark hair from the wind. There was no way she was going to miss the chance to deck herself out in those gold bracelets.

Topaz seemed pleased to be above ground, too, and shook herself, trotting to and fro, enjoying the scents carried on the chilly wind.

"We missed Satinalia, being underground and all," Loghain heard Darrow say to Kain. "Reckon we'll do something for First Day?"

"Dunno," Kain answered. "Do Wardens have holidays and all? 'Cos it would be nice. My mum used to make stuffed capon for First Day. And suet pudding."

"That's all right, but I could go for wild boar, With roast onions."

Sketch muttered, "I could go for _anything_ that isn't nug. Or deepstalker. Or lichen. Especially lichen. Morrigan, have you ever used magic to cook?"

"Magic? Cook using _magic?"_ Morrigan stopped, and stared at him aghast. "Is that the sort of magic one learns in a Circle? Why would one do anything so mundane with _spells?"_

Darrow thought that over. "'Cos it'd be easier that way?"

Loghain grinned. Morrigan sniffed and walked a little faster.

"Next," she said, full of indignation, "you will want magic to clean your floors and launder your filth-encrusted smallclothes!"

"That would be a fine thing," Osbeck remarked seriously. "Many would thank you."

"I know I would," Brangel agreed. "Laundry soap gives me the itch down there."

"Uh, guys.." Sigrun put in. "I'd stop winding Morrigan up if I were you. She has the power to turn your manly bits to icicles."

A contemplative silence, broken only by the crunch of boots on snow.

"I was not winding her up," earnestly rumbled Osbeck. "We of the Avar respect a witch's great power."

Morrigan's walk became insufferably smug. Loghain smirked at her behind her back.

* * *

Maude was no longer wearing tight corsets with her gowns. Nothing could quite conceal the changes to her figure. She looked wonderfully pretty and quite radiant as she rushed to welcome Loghain and his party back hom. Even better, she was pleasantly warm, which counted for quite a bit after a long and disagreeably frosty march.

She called for hot spiced wine, and hurried them all into the Great Hall, where comfortable fires were crackling yellow and blue. Ranger barked and wagged his tail, and Topaz barked too, happy to see her mate and her puppy Onyx. In the time they had been gone, the puppy had grown quite a bit. Valentine and Bethany arrived, smiling and relaxed. Loghain suspected they had enjoyed having the castle nearly to themselves. Maude had no trouble making herself heard over the greetings and chatter.

"Oh, you're all back! And all the bits of you, too. I'm so glad! Varric wrote," she told Loghain, in between kisses. "And the Warden-Commander of Nevarra wrote. And so did Allonby. All my renovations in Gwaren are complete. You'll like them. And the First Warden wrote, but his letter was stupid."

"Are you well?" he asked her, holding her by the shoulders to look her over.

"I'm fine, but it's all very odd," she confided to Loghain, pointing to the distinct baby bump. "There's another person in there. I'm not the only one in my body. I wonder if this is like possession?"

"Is the baby urging you to go on a murderous rampage?" Loghain asked.

"Well…no," she admitted. "More on eating rampages. And embroidery rampages, which, you'll have to admit, are much more unusual in Ferelden than murderous rampages, which are pretty common, after all."

"Only in the circles you frequent."

Morrigan was looking about, a faint frown creasing her brow. "Is the recruiting party back yet?"

"Not yet. Sorry, Morrigan. You're looking well. Did you find any nice treasure?"

"As it happens," the witch drawled, "we did. Loghain must show you."

Faces fell. Darrow spoke for them all, when he said, "Couldn't you show her the...er...thingy in front of all of us"?

Morrigan nearly cackled. Maude's eyes filled with repressed hilarity.

"Oh, do!" she urged Loghain. "Do show me the _thingy_ in front of everybody!"

Loghain rolled his eyes and fetched his backpack. Maude's amusement was instantly transmuted to rapture when the dragon vessel was produced. Bethany and Valentine were most satisfyingly dumbstruck. The dragon cup looked even better in the firelight and candlelight of the Great Hall than it had in the gloom of the Deep Roads.

Maude snatched it up eagerly. "This is so fabulous. It's like the ancient treasure of the Alamarris!"

"Actually," Loghain told her, "it's part of what we think must have been an ancient Alamarri treasure cache."

"Really? I want to see all the other bits."

Gold glinted in their hands, around their necks, on their fingers and jangled sweetly at wrists. Loghain eyed Maude suspiciously, but she did not seem inclined to covet any one else's plunder. Instead she admired the pieces with real enthusiasm, while the housekeeper brought the hot wine and toasted cheese.

"I found the chest...and the cup," Kain blurted out sheepishly.

"Well, you are a very good treasure-finder!" Maude enthused, fingertips caressing the cup most tenderly. "This is scrumptious!"

"We thought we could use it for Joinings," said Sigrun. "Morrigan says that the Joining potion tarnishes silver."

"What a good idea!" Maude agreed instantly. "And it's true about the Joining potion. Makes silver black as a darkspawn's heart. Whereas anybody would drink anything out of a cup like this! That's very helpful. The recruits won't be frightened at the Joining anymore because they'll all be staring at the glory of the flagon with the dragon." She caught Loghain's expression and laughed. "Yes, I know, it's a chalice, not a flagon. It's a chalice that belongs in a palace, but I'm not giving it away. It is as of now an ancient heirloom of the Wardens and we've had it for simply ages."

They dispersed for baths and clean, warm clothes. Maude was very helpful with Loghain's bath, soaping him up with lascivious enthusiasm, and rinsing him down with bliss-inducing care. He lay back, muzzy and relaxed in the steaming water, while she told him the news.

"I just received a letter from my friend Varric in Kirkwall. It was fairly entertaining. Do you want to hear it?"

"Ummm..."

Taking this as consent, she unlocked their private desk, and pulled out the sheets of parchment. A quick, naughty glance, and she began reading:

_"So, Princess—how's the Warden business going?"_

_"_He calls you 'Princess?'" Loghain scowled, sitting up with a splash. That seemed excessively familiar to him.

"Varric likes to give people nicknames," Maude smiled, with a little shrug. "He calls Bethany 'Sunshine,' and their little elf mage 'Daisy.' Anyway, things are interesting there. The Arishok summoned Hawke to warn him about a possible danger. A person or persons unknown stole something from the Qunari, thinking it was the formula for gaatlok. Instead, it was the formula for something quite nasty indeed—and here's what Varric says about it."

She cleared her throat.

_"I swear to you, Princess, the elf was completely round the bend. Hated humans. Hated Qunari, because they've made quite a few converts in the Alienage. So this maniac decided to test the stuff in the middle of __Pinchpenny Square__! It's a stinking gas that makes humans and elves absolutely loony. That would be pretty funny, except it makes them violently loony, too. Even the elf saw that there wasn't much point in screwing around with the minds of slumdwellers. Now if she had let the stuff loose in Hightown…that might have made an impression!_

_"So the crew put her down: Hawke, Fenris, Merrill, Isabela, and me. A lot of innocent bystanders breathed in the stuff and ended up dead. The city guard was trying to keep people out of the area, but as usual, they had no idea how to cope with a crisis involving anything more complicated than a pair of drunks waving broken bottles. Don't tell the Captain I said that! But it's true. _

_"Everybody says hello. Actually, 'everybody' is lounging at the bar, but they're waving their mugs in the direction of this letter. So that counts._

_"When the Arishok summoned Hawke, he said, 'It will be interesting to see if you die.' Not the warmest and fuzziest of pals, our Arishok, but the broody elf seems to think that he's showing Hawke uncommon respect. Not to worry, Princess, I'll bet the Deep Roads treasure that his heart still belongs to you."_

Loghain grunted skeptically, and reached for a towel.

"How nice," Maude laughed. "The Arishok _is _very imposing." She read on:

_"I swear, the Arishok's face is carved in a permanent rictus of disgust now. He really, I mean really, cannot stand this place. It's only a matter of time before the clash of civilizations makes his head explode. What with the horns, that could be pretty dangerous._

_"On to the latest. We have a new gig; or we will soon. Awhile back we took care of some mercs for this Prince of Starkhaven who's a brother in the __Kirkwall__ Chantry. The name's Sebastian Vael, and he is the genuine article. Sworn to chastity and obedience and all, but his family was murdered by the Flint Company, so he's rethinking his options. The Grand Cleric is sort of his surrogate mother or something, but he's not buying her whole 'vengeance is not the answer' line. Hawke and yours truly took care of the Flint Company, and our prince paid us very well. Oh, they really were the killers, Princess: one of the bastards was wearing a necklace that belonged to the Prince's little sister. _

_"You didn't meet Sebastian Vael when you were in town, but you'd be entertained. Wears white armor. I kid you not. Tries to convert us to the light of Andraste in one sentence, and in the next it's on to smiting his enemies. He wants us to help him go after the nobles who financed the Flint Company's attack. He's willing to help, but doesn't want to do it all by his lonesome, which I suppose makes sense. He's rich, anyway; so at least we'll get paid._

_"Yeah, yeah, yeah: I know. We're rich now. That doesn't mean that we should get a rep for working gratis. That's one of the best ways I know to lose respect in this town. So it looks like we'll check out Prince Sebastian's old family friends. Real soon._

_"Your devoted worshiper,_

_Varric"  
_

She put the letter aside and helped Loghain towel off in front of the fire. He was still thinking over an earlier part of the letter. "What is this poison gas of the qunaris?" he wondered. "Would it work on darkspawn?"

"Ooo! Good point!" Maude enthused. "I'll ask for the formula in my next letter."

* * *

Maude had not been idle in his absence. She had kept up with the correspondence and paid official visits to their villages, settling disputes and dealing with petty crime. She had also made preparations for their expected recruits. Rooms in the north wing were arranged with two beds and two chests in each: with armor and weapon stands and candlestands and a writing table and chairs. The quarters were simple, but more comfortable than any barracks Loghain had ever seen. A welcoming feast was planned, and could be thrown together with a half-day's notice.

After a discussion with Maude, Morrigan agreed that she had sufficiently understood Avernus' notes to make doses of the improved potion for all the current Wardens at the Peak. They would be distributed first, and if all went well, the new formula would be used in all future Joinings.

More grimly, a large pyre was built out in the sheltered meadow north of the castle. It would not be visible to anyone unless they actually walked out there, or stood at the top of the north tower looking for it.

Within a sevenday the recruiting party returned.

* * *

From the first moment, it was obvious that it had been a very great success. There were twenty-three new recruits: sixteen men and seven women, now gazing in awe at the imposing Great Hall, with its carved pillars and marble chessboard floor. Not all would live, but even at the worst they could expect that at least a third might; and such an addition would very much supplement their numbers. Keenan gravely presented the list of names to his Warden-Commander. Telamon's puppy Madcap yipped cheerfully, glad to be home. Loghain shook his head as the strangely-shaped sling that had carried the puppy halfway across Ferelden.

Maude was in her element, playing hostess to the mob of them. She was bejeweled and bright-eyed, clad in silver- grey and midnight-black, a lady the likes of which none of them had ever seen before. Several recruits reflexively bowed, or touched their forelocks in respect.

"Welcome to Soldier's Peak, warden recruits! Leave your packs here in the training room," she ordered, her velvet skirts sweeping the floor behind her. "I'll have some snacks laid out for you directly. Valentine and Bethany will take you down to the bathing rooms so you can clean up a bit. We'll show you about a bit, find places for you all, and have an early dinner."

Once they were more or less washed and oriented, each of them was presented to Loghain: shuffling, pink-cheeked young archers from the Bannorn; scruffy rangers from the forests near Lake Calenhad; a quartet of Dust Town bruisers; a pair of Dalish elves the rest of whose clan had perished in the Blight; some genuine hard cases, who saw no future in the mercenary life; and one mage.

"And this is Ambrose Amell, Loghain," Anders said grandly. "I had to be fairly aggressive at the Circle to get even one recruit. Old Irving has it in for me, and while Greagoir would as soon have cut me in two as look at me, things are actually worse there now with the new Knight-Commander."

For the moment, Loghain ignored the issue of a new power at the Circle, and instead studied the tall young man, pale and thin as fine parchment, his dark eyes hooded and shadowed, his black hair falling in careless waves.

"Are you well?" Loghain asked bluntly.

"Not very," Amell replied without ceremony. Perhaps he was not quite as young as Loghain had first thought. There were fine lines etched around the eyes, and carved into the sides of the sullen mouth. "But it was nice seeing the sunlight again after a year and a half."

Anders waggled his brows at Loghain. Clearly there was much more to the story.

"So this is Bethany's cousin!" Maude joined them, smiling at their new recruit. Bethany was just behind her, rather pleased and excited. "How extraordinary that they finally meet here at Soldier's Peak!"

"Hello," Bethany said, a little shyly. "I've heard of you, of course."

"Never heard of you at all," Amell shrugged, giving her proffered hand a single, dismissive shake. "Never heard from anybody after I was sent to Ferelden to be locked up and hidden away. I didn't even know that Cousin Leandra ran off with an apostate. Serves the family right. They tried to pretend I never existed, but it didn't do them a bit of good, after all. From what Anders told me, it sounds like we're the only ones left."

Bethany was a little hurt at his lack of enthusiasm. "That's right. It's just you, Mother, Adam, and me now. And Uncle Gamlen, of course. He sort of inherited everything, and then lost it all. Adam's got the house back now."

"Ah," drawled Amell with mock nostalgia. "_'__I __remember, __I __remember, __the__ house__ where__ I__ was __born.__'_"

"It's a very _nice_ house," Bethany said. "I'm sure that Mother and Adam will like living there."

Amell's thin face twisted in a mild grimace. "That's nice for them."

Bethany's voice sharpened, ever so slightly. "—and I'm sure that you'll like living _here._ I do. Excuse me. I have to speak to my _friends.__"_

She walked away, head high, and began chatting with determined animation to Sigrun and a group of new recruits. Amell felt eyes on him, and stiffened.

"Was it something I said?"

"Well, yes," Maude explained kindly. "That, and the whole 'I am a giant prat' thing you have going. Other than that, you were perfectly charming to the nice young kinswoman who was offering you the hand of friendship."

She granted the men a brilliant smile, and then was waved down by the housekeeper, who was frantically trying to put dinner on the table.

The men were briefly silent. Anders remarked. "Ambrose, you remember how in the Circle you had to watch out for the Templars? Well, here it's the women. Don't cross 'em."

A dry chuckle from Loghain. "Wise words, since he'll be sharing a tower with Morrigan." He fixed Amell with an amused stare. "Senior Warden Mage Morrigan…"

Amell looked mildly nervous. "We met…briefly."

"Ah."

Very soon, they were called to dinner. Special efforts had been made, and it was clear that most of the recruits had never seen such place or such a dinner in their lives. Maude had seated them at their own table, and they fell to like starving mabaris.

There was traditional Fereldan lamb-and-pea stew, of course, but Maude had put that on the bill of fare as something of a joke. There was wine at the head table, but the others had good ale and cider with their meal. There was roast pork and apples; there was saddle of mutton with turnips and onions; there was chicken pie in a rich and crumbling crust, the herbed fragrance heady and irresistible; there were honey-glazed ducks, hot off the spit; there were all sorts of pickles, and spiced walnuts and roasted chestnuts; there was pumpkin bread and barley bread and crusty wheaten bread; there were mounds of mashed cabbage and potatoes, drizzled with butter; there were deep bowls of greens stewed with bacon; and then there were cheesecakes, and honeycakes, and fruitcakes, and almond milk pudding, frosted with sugar…

In time, the happily bloated recruits were trundled off to their beds, and Loghain briefly presented to the Wardens the plans and associated maps that would, in theory, earn each recruit an essential vial of darkspawn blood.

Next, every Warden was given a dose of the improved potion. No one particularly enjoyed it, but no one died or threw up the excellent dinner, either.

* * *

"I hope they all survive," Maude sighed. "I like them. Maybe the improved Joining potion will give them an extra edge."

"I'd be satisfied if we keep half of them," grunted Loghain.

The plan was to take groups of the recruits into the Deep Roads and head toward some of the darkspawn nests Loghain had noted on his maps. Twenty-three recruits were a lot to manage. There would be five groups, led by Loghain, Keenan, Oghren, Valentine,…and Morrigan.

'You wish me to lead one of these motley bands?" she asked, surprised. Loghain felt it was time to challenge her a little.

"You've never had a problem telling people what to do before," he pointed out. "You have great experience, and you know what you're doing."

Morrigan sniffed, and regarded the team assigned to her in bemusement and clear skepticism. The recruits, on the other hand, were in various states of respect, awe, and dread. Loghain had chosen Osbeck to support her as junior Warden, knowing the man admired her. The two Dalish elves were in the party, as they were accustomed to being led by their Keepers, who were invariably mages, Two dwarves and a hard-faced young woman of manifestly dodgy origins made up the rest of the party.

"Have a good time," Loghain suggested, "and try to bring some of them back."

Everyone was supposed to return within ten days. Some would take longer, some would take less. Loghain organized his own team, carefully objective. He had chosen among the weakest of the recruits, feeling that he and Bethany could make up the difference. He would lead them to the best of his ability, but he must not get too attached to any of them.

"When they come back, we should get on with it," Maude declared. "Let them rest and wash up, give them a really good meal, and then have the Joining right away."

Loghain nodded, his mind already on the journey ahead.

* * *

As it was, they lost three recruits in the Deep Roads. None from his own party, but Loghain wondered if he had done too much to protect them, at that. It was easy to forget the initial shock of the darkspawn, he realized. Over time, one became hardened to the horror. As to their recruits, sheer naked fear had killed one, and darkspawn two others. That left twenty for the Joining, which was held at a single time, after all the parties had returned. Somehow, it did not surprise Loghain to learn that Morrigan returned first: within six days, in fact.

They waited in the practice room, tremulous young neophytes, watched by Darrow and Kain, who knew all there was to know about recruits. Valentine came down four times, read off a list of five names, and led them like a handsome young guardian of souls, up the gleaming marbles stairs to their destiny in the War Room. Darrow and Kain came up with the last five, sharing the moment at last.

In her condition, Loghain did not want Maude handling darkspawn blood. She was there, reciting the ritual words in her lovely voice, while Loghain presented the astonishing, glittering dragon chalice to each frightened or determined or eager initiate. He also had his sword handy, ready to strike down those who had second, unwise thoughts. The survivors were laid out on straw pallets on the floor of the King's Bedchamber, watched over by Anders and Bethany. Those less fortunate or less resilient were carried down to a chilly antechamber. At the end of the Joining, they would be taken to the pyre in a wagon. The fire would claim them, and tomorrow they would become an addition to Maude's rose garden, now dormant in the grasp of early winter.

No one faltered. Perhaps it was the dreamy persuasiveness of Maude's voice, or the fact that everyone else was doing it. Perhaps it was the distracting glory of the golden cup. Loghain had given some thought to who should go first in each group, based on Telamon and Keenan's notes.

The mage, the very first of their initiates, survived. Despite his rudeness to her, Bethany looked very pleased and relieved, evidently already planning the letter she would send to Kirkwall, telling her mother and brother about their kinsman. Only one perished in that first group: one of the dwarves.

They lost four more. At the end of the Joining, it was agreed that this was an unusually successful recruitment. They had nearly doubled their numbers. There were now thirty-one Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Almost enough, Loghain reflected, to undertake some _serious_ missions.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: RakeeshJ4, mutive, MsBarrows, sizuka2, Shakespira, Phygmalion, Mike, Josie Lange, Granoc, JackOfBladesX, crimsondawn, Zute, Kira Kyuu, Judy, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Sarah1281, karinfan123, Jenna53, Eva Galana, mille libri, Juliafied, Thomas Blaine, tgcgoddess, Enaid Aderyn, cloud1004, and riverdaleswhiteflash. _


	40. Stardust Dreams

**The Keening Blade:**

**Chapter 40: Stardust Dreams**

Anders bounded into the War Room. He stood at the threshold, arms spread wide, and shouted, _"__Sela __Petrae!__"_

A bemused silence followed.

"_What?__"_ Loghain demanded.

"I think he's happy about something," Maude guessed. "Not sure what. But definitely happy. I like happy people."

Morrigan pushed past Anders, glancing at him in scorn. "Let us shut the door." She did so, and shoved the ebullient Anders toward his usual chair. "He is capering like a noddy about that Qunari blackpowder."

Anders smiled luminously. "The last ingredient!"

Loghain tapped his fingers restlessly. "You mentioned charcoal and drakestone. And this sela petrae is also essential?"

"Absolutely essential," Anders grinned. "But that's it. Only three ingredients!"

"What _is_ Sela Petrae? Maude asked. "Is it rare? Is it hard to get?"

Anders' grin, incredibly, broadened. "Couldn't be cheaper and more common."

"We can mine drakestone from the Deep Roads," Loghain said impatiently. "Where do we find this Sela Petrae?"

"All we need," Anders chuckled, "is a lot of piss. And it doesn't matter whose."

Another bemused pause, and then Anders explained the process of evaporation and crystallization in more detail.

"We can also use birdshit and batshit, if we want to bother to collect the latter when we're in the Deep Roads. It would work really well."

"So what it 'boils down to,'" teased Maude, "is that the ingredients are cheap and easy to come by. What about the process itself?"

"More to the point," said Loghain, "have you succeeded in making gaatlok yourself?"

Morrigan sat back, looking smug. Anders grinned.

Loghain raised his brows. "I take it that is a 'yes.'"

"It needs more work," Anders admitted. " We can give you a demonstration in a few days. The stuff we made isn't as powerful as the Qunari kind. I'm sure it's the process, though, not the ingredients. We've even considered infusing it with lyrium—"

"With great _caution,__"_ Morrigan emphasized.

Maude shifted her pregnant bulk, grimacing, and then said, "I think we should call it something different. We shouldn't use the words 'gaatlok' or 'blackpowder.' They'll attract the wrong kind of attention. The minute the Qunaris know we have this, they'll attack. I'm sure of it. We need a different word."

"Like a code…" Loghain considered, already devising the necessary protocol for collecting chamberpots and storing the urine in barrels… in a place where no one would confuse it with the cider...

"Like…_boomstuff_…" Maude said dreamily. "Or Dragon Ashes, or Wrath of the Maker, or gunk, or stardust…I like stardust. It gives no clue whatever about its actual composition…"

"And we could use it differently than the Qunaris do," Anders said. "For one thing, we could wrap some of it behind arrowheads—or ballista bolts. Then if a mage sent a fireball at a target, it would ignite, and make the fireball immensely more powerful and explosive."

Loghain nodded, following the idea, but not wanting to limit the use by needing magical assistance. "The Qunari must have some other way of igniting it."

"I saw some of their grenades," Maude volunteered. "Had them thrown at me, too. They had a fire going, and they lit something like the wick of a candle that was attached to the grenade. Then they threw it before the wick burned down. Sometimes the wick was long enough that I could throw it back and surprise them. That was a lot of fun."

Loghain imagined the substance's use in traps, smiling quietly. The trigger could be one of the usual fire traps, attached to a much large bomb. The trap would be laid…the darkspawn lured in…a powerful explosion. It could be used to collapse tunnels and destroy whole lairs, much as that lyrium bomb had destroyed the breeding grounds of the Mother's minions…

And of course, its use would not be limited to underground. It would be kept in reserve, as a grim but satisfying surprise for any invader…

"You've done well," he complimented the mages. "Extremely well. Continue your researches, but don't blow up the fortress or yourselves. I agree that we must be discreet, but I want a demonstration in a sevenday."

"So—" smirked Anders. "Stardust?"

"Why not?"

* * *

"I do hate feeling helpless and incompetent," Maude sulked, hand on her swollen belly.

Loghain, reading at last through the First Warden's letter Maude had described as "stupid," snorted unkindly at the very idea of Maude being incompetent. She might not be her unnaturally quick self with a blade at the moment, but she'd undoubtedly find a way to make fools of people in every other way, if it proved necessary or entertaining.

"Well, I am!" she insisted. "Look at me!"

Loghain looked at her, and shrugged, turning back to his letter. "You look beautiful."

"That's not the point! What if I had to fight a dragon?"

"You don't have to fight a dragon right now, Maude. You just have to let me read this."

She flopped—cautiously—into a chair. "The First Warden is such a buffoon. We shouldn't pay any attention to him."

"He's a buffoon with a great deal of influence and power, and he appears to be very put out with me at the moment."

The First Warden, it appeared, was extremely displeased at Loghain for writing to his peers and making suggestions and plans that should be the sole purview of the First Warden.

"That Peyrolle in Orlais ratted you out," Maude said. "Just for that, he gets an extra helping of darkspawn."

Loghain read on. The First Warden, Loghain was assured, would disseminate any intelligence pertinent to Loghain's duties. Loghain was not to concern himself with the tactical situation of any command other than his own. He was not to concern himself with overall Warden strategy. The other Wardens-Commander had been likewise advised.

"I am to adhere to the _chain of command_ in future," Loghain sneered.

"He's a dickhead,' Maude agreed. "And I don't think he _has_ a strategy, or even a tactical grasp of what's going on. He's too busy trying to run the Anderfels. As far as I can see, the strategy of the Wardens has always been "Whack a Mole."

Loghain stared at her. She sighed dramatically.

"You know what I mean! If darkspawn show up on the surface, react. Deal with the immediate problem, but not with the source in any serious manner. Go into the Deep Roads to initiate your new recruits and do the occasional training patrol. Send your older Wardens there all by themselves, so they can be the next generation of Hurlock Generals and Broodmothers. We mustn't run out of darkspawn, must we, and thus make ourselves obsolete? Wouldn't be prudent. Maintain the status quo at all costs."

"There may be a great deal in what you say," Loghain said slowly. "Institutional inertia and ossification might also factor in. The First Warden probably became a Warden as a young man. He was indoctrinated by others who had also been Wardens all their adult lives. They do things the way they have always been done."

"I suppose," Maude laughed. "And he can claim it's worked out really well: after all, the Wardens destroyed the Blight in less than two years this time! That proves his 'strategy' is brilliant!"

Loghain chuckled himself. He could imagine the self-satisfied attitudes in Weisshaupt. At least he had received some useful information from the other Warden posts, before the First Warden shut him down. Or had he? If he quietly continued to write to like-minded peers, like Sainsby in Ansberg and Hector Pentaghast in Nevarra, what could the First Warden actually _do_ about it? Good luck if he tried to replace Loghain with one of his own. As to the Orlesians, well...

He smirked, consigning them to the rubbish heap of Warden history.

"Have you heard from Leliana recently?" he asked. It would not be a bad idea to keep some sort of watch on their supposed brothers across the border.

"Not in months," Maude said. "I'm a little concerned. I'll write her, and ask what's going on." She made a face. "I suppose I should be careful about what I tell her is going on here. I can't tell her about Stardust, or about all the money we made from dragonbone... No. I can the latter, I suppose, since the Orlesians already know about that because of the blabbing wannabe Orlesians in Kirkwall. So, all right. I'll tell her a bit about my lovely holiday in Kirkwall and about Bethany and how nice she is. I can tell her a bit about Soldier's Peak and that it's going well. I'll tell her about the Great Hall. It's so pretty. She'll like that. I wonder if she already knows about the baby?"

Loghain frowned, a little concerned. "Peyrolle probably does. From the moment we made the announcement at Highever, we have to presume that word was winging its way to the ears of the Empress and her favorites. I'm sure they can't wait to share it with the First Warden."

"Actually," Maude brightened. "I think we should send an official report of it to the First Warden ourselves. He won't find me as easy to bully as Alistair's poor mother. He'll probably cut off my stipend if I don't leave the baby in a basket on the Chantry doorstep, but I daresay I can manage to survive without his coin!"

She pulled a chair up to the other side of the writing table and began scratching at a parchment with her drawing pencils, humming to herself. Loghain shook his head, and went back to his correspondence.

There really were markedly fewer darkspawn at large throughout Ferelden—at least in the places that had troubled to reply to him. He saw no reason to guess that those places that had not—Orlais and the Anderfels—were much different than anywhere else.

That was evidence that there was not an infinite number of darkspawn: that their numbers were not so vast as to make any initiative against them doomed from the start. If they had been so numerous, why had not the Archdemon Urthemiel called a million darkspawn to the march on Denerim? Any opposition to the horde would have been hopeless, and there would have been decades—even centuries—or darkness.

Instead, as far as Loghain could reckon, the Archdemon had amassed perhaps fifteen thousand darkspawn in all, and many of those had come long distances, lured by the Old God's song. Perhaps there had been more: perhaps twenty thousand was closer to the mark. It was difficult to get numbers on the darkspawn killed by the dwarves. They really must learn more about how the darkspawn multiplied.

The ogres were particularly interesting. It was believed that ogres must be the offspring of Qunari women. There were no ogres in the historic records in past Blights. The first reports of them were from the Steel Age, over a hundred years after the Fourth Blight, and about fifty years after the Qunari invasion of Thedas. The gigantic horned appearance of ogres could stem from no other heritage known in the world. Ogres were comparatively uncommon. There might be only one or two Broodmothers who had spawned the entire population of them. Did the Qunari know of this? Did they care?

They must, to some extent, or they would not have been curious enough to send Maude's old friend Sten of the Beresaad to investigate. Of course, investigating the Blight was a splendid and plausible cover story for a reconnaisance preparatory to an invasion. Both reasons might in fact be valid. Loghain shifted in his chair, displeased with himself. He should never have allowed Sten to leave Ferelden alive.

But one problem at a time. The darkspawn were continuing to replenish their numbers. Darkspawn were born adult, and so there was no period of vulnerability and training. If they had sufficient Broodmothers, hidden away in deep caverns, they could soon be back to Blight numbers. Loghain could only hope there would be more internecine feuds to help hold down their population.

"I think I found a nest under Amaranthine," Loghain said, pulling out his working map. "Here."

"Seranni? Or some other poor woman?" Maude wondered, looking up from her parchment. "Who knows how many they grabbed when they were raiding the farms? If you think it's a Broodmother, we can't destroy her fast enough. Is that why you wanted a lot of archers? You'll need more than arrows to put down a bitch like that."

"I'm well aware of that. We'll use bombs and grenades. Possibly a portable nallista as well."

Maude nodded judiciously. "You can't have a much more stationary target than a Broodmother."

"Fimo and that new fellow Narik are fair engineers. We'll have five mages, too. I'm going to take all of them. If this is a Broodmother, it's too valuable a training mission for anyone to miss. I got the impression that very few Wardens have ever seen even one."

"Be sure to have Anders, Oghren, and Sigrun take a look at the poor thing before you mangle her to death. They're the ones who could recognize Seranni. I want to be able to check her off the list of possible threats." She scowled. "I wish I were going, but in a way I'm glad I'm not. Broodmothers are depressing. On the other hand, we've got to get them. I'll bet there are a bunch of them in the south. Let's take a good sized party with us to Gwaren and see what turns up."

That was exactly what Loghain was planning. If Maude was determined to bear her child in Gwaren, he must go with her. Once there, he wanted to secure his son's city from attack from below. They would descend into the Deep Roads there, explore the GwarenPassage and indeed see what 'turned up.'

Maude had returned to her project, charcoals scratching on parchment. Loghain puzzled over the meticulous way she was using her measuring tools.

"What that?" Loghain wondered. "Are you designing something?"

"Remembering something," she said, still focused on her work. "It could be answer to my problem."

"Which problem is that?"

"I _told_ you!" she blew out a breath, exasperated with him. "Being _helpless_ and _vunerable_ and too slow to use a sword. It's _horrible_. I can hardly sleep at night, thinking about the things that happen to women who can't use their swords properly."

He got up and walked around the table, watching her work, stroking the glossy brown hair. "I really don't think you're in a great deal of danger at the moment."

"I could be," she disagreeed. "At this very _moment_, there might be an expeditionary force of picked Qunari of the Beresaad, landing at Breaker's Cove, getting ready to storm Soldier's Peak. What would I do then? Huh? What? Go run and hide in the cellars? Bake cookies?"

"They like cookies." Loghain pointed out. "It might indeed be an effective diversionary tactic."

She poked him with her sharpened charcoal. "...Or maybe some Orlesian spies have climbed the reverse slope of the Coast Range, and are in the orchard while we are speaking _right now! _Or intelligent darkspawn are tunneling up underneath our feet... Or the Templars are coming to arrest our mages... If any or all those things happen, I've got to be _ready!"_

She was looking a little wild-eyed, so Loghain decided that humoring her was the safest tactic.

"What do you intend to do?"

"I need a serious weapon I can use. Right now. I saw one in Kirkwall that would do, and I think our dwarven smiths are clever enough to reproduce it."

Loghain leaned over the table, studying the plan. Maude was a surprisingly good draftswoman, though he supposed he should not be surprised at her doing anything well. The object taking shape on the parchment was complicated, and reminded him of the mechanism for a dwarven barrier door: all screws and gears. There was also a long spring of silverite in the center of a barrel, and a wooden handle of some sort, and then a trigger device, which looked like...

"Is that a _crossbow?"_

She shook her head quickly, neatly shading in the background. "Varric calls it a crossbow, but it's really not. It doesn't use a bowstring. Instead, it's got a powerful spring, and a gear switch on a screw that cocks the thing. You can even load it with multiple quarrels. It's neat. Varric does major damage with his. It's his primary weapon. It has an amazing range and accuracy, and it's really, really powerful. He can knock down a genlock with it.. He had a sighting device built into it...see there? And he had some explosive bolts for his that made targets literally turn inside out. It was beautiful."

"If that cousin of the Glavonaks can forge that spring, I suppose it's possible." Loghain looked at the nice little diagram more closely. "Let me know what happens with that. It could be useful."

She nodded again, like a serious child engaged in absorbing play. He snorted. "You could load it with your little juggling balls, I suppose. Those would hurt."

That made her smile, though she still did not look up. "Maybe at short range," she agreed. "And hollowed out and filled with explosives or poison. What fun!"

"Is that another part of the mechanism?" he asked, puzzling over some spirals and swirls.

"No. That's where my name will be inlaid in gold when it's complete. It's going to be _gorgeous._"

* * *

Today, the mages were entirely too pleased with themselves. The workroom at the top of the Mages' Tower was a far more comfortable place since the broken windows were reglazed and the holes in the floor filled in. There was a strong smell of drakestone, and a lingering odor of rotten eggs. Morrigan and Anders were smirking at each other, which was even more ominous.

The biggest worktable was arranged with mortars and pestles, with shallow metal trays, with assorted rags of silk and linen, with crumpled parchment, with copper bowls, with tubes of bronze and iron and dragonthorn wood. One of the largest tubes was fixed to a mount to hold it rigid. There was a heavy urn, filled to the brim with coarse black powder.

Loghain picked up one of the tubes to examine it. A hollow cylinder, open at one end. A very small hole was drilled into the closed end. It was blackened by scorch marks.

Morrigan, in an insufferably superior tone, began. "We discovered why the Qunari powder was so coarse-grained—"

"—completely by accident," Anders confessed. "We spilled water on a batch of the powder and it dried out that way. It's a lot stronger now."

Morrigan huffed her displeasure. "That's as may be," she said haughtily. "Nonetheless, we believe we have reproduced—in miniature—the principle of the Qunari cannon. We read various descriptions—invariably written by those who ran away from them. However, certain details are uniform: large metal cylinders, fixed on wheeled mounts; the use of fire and wicking to ignite them; the heavy recoiling jolt when the gaatlok explodes and the missile is shot from the cannon. The smith Glassric made the metal tubes for us. We are no metalworkers, to devise well-forged cannons, but we have succeeded in reproducing the explosive powder, with only the simplest ingredients and no magic infusing it."

"Though we will try adding lyrium eventually. But before all that...well..." Anders grinned. "Look at the wall over there!"

He moved a screen aside, revealing something that resembled a archery target. It was a thick sack of wool, a bullseye painted on the coarse, torn sacking. The tears, examined more closely, proved to be holes, much like those made by an arrow.

"Not very impressive accuracy," Loghain snorted, disapproving of the pattern of hits.

"Look at this," Anders smirked, pulling the heavy woolsack away from the wall. Behind it, the wall itself was scored and chipped. Maude, aflame with curiosity, hurried over to examine it. Loghain followed, frowning. They chipped a stone wall with these little toys?

"What did you use as a missile?" Maude asked eagerly.

"All sorts of things!" Anders said, waving his hands. "We tried little glass balls, but they shattered within the test cannons, and exploded in a fine, dangerous dust. Stone shattered, too, and wood splintered."

"What about lead?" Loghain asked. "It's cheap and malleable."

"That what we've used. It's also interesting to see what it looks like after it hits something. And we tried lots of little round balls crammed in at once. It did this!"

He dragged out another wool stuffed target. Maude and Loghain gazed on the damage in silence.

"I like that," Maude said. "I think that has possibilities. I want to see it done."

The fixed tube was quickly arranged in front of the target and clamped to the table. Morrigan carefully spooned a measure of the coarse black powder into the cylinder, pushed in a lsmall lead ball, and then crammed in some torn bits of silk, tamping everything back with a stick. Meanwhile, Anders slipped a length of candlewicking into the small hole in the rear.

"This is that part I really like," he muttered, lighting a splinter of wood from a brazier. "Everyone, stand behind the cannon, now..."

Morrigan rolled her eyes, as he touched the burning splinter to the wicking. It fizzed a little. Loghain wondered if they had impregnated the wick with some of their powder. It burned down, down...

_Bang!_

The crack of the gaatlok forced a flinch from Loghain. Nothing in nature sounded quite like it. Another big hole appeared in the target.

_Not anywhere near the center,_ Loghain noted with a snort.

Maude jumped, and then squealed with joy.

"I want to do that?"

"Of course you do," Loghain muttered. Her new spring-loaded crossbow was quite fanciful enough. He hoped she would not take it into her head to want to swagger through Ferelden with some sort of miniature Qunari cannon strapped to her back.

The dogs were not so pleased with the demonstration, and made their discontent perfectly clear.

"It's very noisy, I know, darling boy," Maude soothed Ranger. "But those big bangs will kill simply heaps of darkspawn. You'll get used to it."

Ranger squinted at her with such manifest skepticism that Loghain burst out laughing. Topaz simply seemed appalled. Onyx lay down and put his paws over his ears.

"Just one more," Maude said eagerly. "Show me how!"

Loghain pulled up a bench and gathered the dogs by him, showing them by his unconcerned manner that this was nothing to fear. Anders moved the target a few inches to the right. Meanwhile, Maude went into a frenzy of powder-measuring and rag-stuffing, while Morrigan hovered. Anders showed her the wicking and allowed her to light it. Loghain scowled at the mages until they pulled Maude back away from the object. It banged again: short, sharp, and painful, and yet another hole appeared, this one a little more respectably near the middle of the target.

Topaz stood up and looked at Loghain with pitiful reproach.

"We're not done yet," he said sternly. He turned to Anders and asked, "What about bombs and traps?"

This demonstration he found more practical. Developing anything like Qunari cannons would clearly take years. A worthy project, when they could conscript some well-trained smiths and engineers, but not something that they should waste their best mages upon to the exclusion of all else.

One of the old experimental openings in the floor was used for the demonstration. A crockery jar was filled with some of the black powder and an assortment of metal scraps. and over that was a standard fire trap, set off by a pressure plate. Another sack of wool was carefully laid over all.

"For safety's sake," Morrigan told them, beautiful face serious. They were made to stand back, and Anders rolled a stone ball toward the hole in the floor, It trundled to the edge, disappeared, and thumped onto the wool sack with a thud.

And a crack of thunder shook the room. Bits of wool fluff and shredded sacking blew into the air, in a blizzard of destruction. They stood stock-still until their ears stopped ringing, and then they walked cautiously to the opening and looked in.

"Now that," Loghain remarked, "is what I like to see. No legends, no stories, no make-believe. Just good, sound engineering."

"Good, sound, _destructive_ engineering," Maude agreed, very impressed.

* * *

The hunt for the Broodmother would be their last mission before First Day. Maude was determined that the holiday would celebrated with maximum festivity. There would be a feast; there would be games; there would be entertainment. Loghain wondered how far she would go, but after listening in on some of his people's conversations, Loghain agreed that it would be good for morale.

_As long as she doesn't try to make me play any bloody games. I hate games._

But before the reward must come the mission. Once finished there, he wanted to stop at Vigil's Keep and see if he could get Delilah's agreement to his defensive proposals for the North. A letter to that effect was sent to her, giving her the approximate dates he could be expected.

They had a final briefing before their departure, and an additional, more detailed meeting with the mages, who would be key to this operation. Once the plans were clear to everyone, the meeting dissolved into general conversation. Bethany seemed to be getting on better with her cousin, their new Warden Ambrose. As Loghain learned more about the man's situation, he had begun to feel some sympathy. Amell had been a friend of that blood mage Jowan, and had been caught up in the fellow's spectacular escape from the Circle. Amell himself, unfortunately, had not escaped, and had been horrified at the revelation that his friend was actually guilty of exactly the crime the Templars had suspected. That did not save him from a harsh punishment indeed.

Loghain, in light of what was going on in the Circle at the moment, wanted to know as much as possible, and so asked the man for the whole story.

"Well," Amell scoffed, "my story isn't particularly interesting. I came very, very close to summary execution, which would have ended my story pretty damned quick. Instead,Irving negotiated leniency for me from Greagoir, on the grounds that I had been tricked by Jowan—like many others. Also, he was pleased to imagine that my heart had been softened by a tale of young love. Jowan, you see, dreamed of escaping with his girlfriend Lily, a Chantry initiate…"

Loghain rolled his eyes. Maude was amused. "A mage and a Chantry initiate? This just gets worse and worse!"

"Lily had been pledged to the Chantry against her will, so she was already willing to run. She might have done, too, but for the blood magic. That revolted her, and she was caught. Greagoir sentenced her to be taken to the Aeonar Prison, but I have absolutely no idea if that happened or not. During the Blight, everything was in such flux, I'm not sure they would bother to arrange a transport detail, just for one foolish initiate. Jowan and I used to speculate about the Aeonar, anyway. Is there really such a place at all? Or do the Templars just use the name to threaten people, but really take them out in the woods and lop off their heads? 'Killed trying to escape' seems to work for them pretty well."

"Very interesting point," Maude agreed cheerily. "Something to investigate. Anyway, what happened to you?"

"I was sentenced to the cells below the Tower. Anders knows about them. Solitary confinement, supposedly for a year. However, with the uproar at the Circle, nobody had time to release me. I was lucky that they even remembered to feed me. Anders got away during the rebellion. I was much lower down, and had three iron doors to get through. I survived, though, and found out that Greagoir retired after the big battle and the Chantry had sent a new man to take command. The Chantry's very upset about the number of mages who slipped their grasp during the fighting. They're not admitting how many got away, but it was a lot. Some joined the Mage's Collective, and word is that the Templars have come down hard on them. Others have gone to ground. Some have gone south to find what's left of the Chasinds. They may be barbarians, but they respect mages. Others are living as regular people. Some have tried to make a run for Rivain or Tevinter."

"It's true there's been a big uptick in apostates," Maude said thoughtfully. "Good for them. I like being free, too."

Loghain was not so pleased. "Mages are Ferelden's last, best defense. I don't like the idea of losing any. Tell me more about this new Knight-Commander. Who is he, anyway?"

"His name…" Anders paused, struggling not to smile…"Is Ser Berengar de Malsange."

Loghain punched the wall. "Well! There you are! Say no more!"

"Say no more!" echoed Maude, eyes glassy with anticipation.

"_Please, say_ no more," Morrigan muttered, "but I fear 'tis far too late!"

It was too much. Loghain snarled, "Who thought it was a good idea to give Ferelden a bloody _Orlesian_ as Knight-Commander?"

"The Divine," Maude explained gently. "She_ likes_ Orlesians. All her best friends are Orlesian, including herself."

"I thought Greagoir was a hard man," Amell said, "but that only goes to show how naïve I was. Greagoir was sweet reasonableness himself compared to Berengar. Remember how you used to complain about the lack of doors in the mages' quarters, Anders? How it diminished out dignity to have no doors? Well, everybody has doors now. Doors that _lock."_

"I know," Anders said. "I saw. Mages are locked in when they're not engaged in a scheduled activity. They have to have passes to use the bloody library!"

"It really does sound like a prison now," Bethany said softly.

This of course, explained why the Circle had sent no replacement Healer to the Queen of Ferelden. Loghain decided the Templars' heads were getting entirely too big for their ridiculous helmets.

"So how nasty was this Berengar to you, Anders?" Maude wanted to know. "Did he get the whole Warden thing?"

"He was aware that he was not supposed to lock me away with the rest of the prisoners, yes," Anders snorted. "Let me see or talk to the mages in the Circle? He had a problem with that. I'm a bad influence, you see."

"Of course you are," Morrigan snapped, impatient. "You are not a snivelling drone."

Anders looked at her, eyes alight. "Sometimes you say the nicest things, Morrigan."

She scoffed at that. "This Berengar must go. 'Twould be an easy matter."

"You mean…" Bethany hesitated. "…we should just go… _assassinate_ the Knight-Commander?"

Loghain growled, "He is hindering our mission. That is not permissible."

"Assassinations can be like fun," Maude agreed, "but people can't know it was us. A pig like that is bound to piss off somebody with a faster sword. Or," she sighed wistfully, "maybe an accident would be best."

"If he was so strict," asked Bethany, "how did you get Ambrose out at all?"

"I wasn't someone he was particularly concerned with," Amell said bitterly. "I was exactly where he liked me. He had decided to make my residence in the dungeons permanent. Easier than sending me to the Aeonar, and he wouldn't have to send a Templar detail away from the Tower. No one would have remembered I was locked up, if Anders hadn't asked for me by name. He could palm me off on Anders without the rest of the mages even knowing the Wardens were in the Tower."

Anders scowled fiercely. "And I think that Berengar would have laughed me out Kinloch Hold, if Keenan and the rest hadn't been there, heavily armed, to back me up. Berengar was pretty smug, saying that we shouldn't need any more mages, as there wasn't likely to be a need for Wardens for another few hundred years. Told me not to bother to come back."

"That's it," Maude's eyes were blazing. "After all I did for the Circle? He's a dead man!"

"Not immediately," Loghain judged. "But soon." He thought a little more. "Eamon Guerrin has a son in the Circle Tower. How does he feel about the new regime?"

"That is something we need to find out," Maude said, grasping his meaning instantly. "Also, when I've had the baby, and I'm back in shape, I think what I should do is find where the phylacteries are and destroy them all. They're probably in the Cathedral somewhere. That's really the essential step for loosening the Chantry's manacles. Right now, if we went in and got the mages out, theTemplars would just track them down again. And, of course, some don't want to leave the Tower. It's all they know. I wonder how deeply involved the Grand Cleric is with all this. I know she didn't like Anders attending Anora's birth, but I'm not sure if that was just Anders or the general fact he was a mage."

"Based on what I'm hearing from the other Warden posts," Loghain said, "it appears to be the policy of the Divine. This is a comprehensive crackdown throughout Thedas—or at least the part of it that the Divine thinks she rules."

"Well…" Maude considered. "She's old. That's the good thing about Divines. They're mostly old, and so if' you don't like one, you can usually wait five years for the next. I do think at the spring Landsmeet, someone is going to have the raise the issue, however. I'll bet there are heaps of nobles out there, unhappy because their court mages were rounded up, or because they couldn't get a Healer when they needed one. With luck, we won't have to be the ones to start something." She paused, and her eyes lit up. "Wouldn't if be tremendous fun if it was Arl Eamon who did?"

* * *

Sigrun was not sure that the Broodmother they killed was Seranni. It was hard to tell. The creature was so changed by her metamorphosis that her head had distorted and stretched, altering her features. The thing's hair was pale, and the young were shrieks, so it had certainly been an elf once. The elves in the party were deeply horrified by the experience. One, young Thenyra, seemed traumatized. Some of her clan, Loghain learned, had disappeared, and she feared the worst for the women. Sadly, her suppositions were probably spot on.

"We must hunt them down!" she shouted. "We must kill them all!"

"That's the plan," Darrow told her in his bracingly best sergeant's manner. "Innit, Commander?"

"Indeed it is," Loghain replied. The girl was horrified, but she was thoroughly motivated now, which could only be a good thing.

Loghain was immensely pleased at the success of their new tactics for killing Broodmothers. Their "Stardust" was not yet ready for field tests, but even so, the initial volley of fire arrows and poisoned bolts had been brilliantly effective. The monstrous creature had been seriously damaged before the swordsmen and axemen moved in. Ultimately, Loghain would prefer to kill Broodmothers entirely at distance. To do that, they would need more archers, or more powerful poisons, or various explosive powders and grenades. Stardust bombs should work quite well. The light ballista had proved useful. Broodmothers, as Maude wisely said, were a stationary target. Once the engineers had the distance— and as long as those operating the ballista could be protected—a ballista was an excellent weapon.

* * *

Afterwards, they emerged from the Deep Roads, and marched to Vigil's Keep.

Delilah was there, and with her Bann Nathaniel. The three of them had a long and fruitful conference about security issues. They were in agreement on the main points. Nathaniel advised Delilah against accepting the full amount of the loan offered by the Wardens, but they did agree to take enough to improve coastal defenses. The harbor would have a stone rampart and improved gatehouses protecting the city of Amaranthine from an attack by sea. The rest of the loan would go to build and man some new watchtowers: one at the tip of the Blackmarsh peninsula, one at Anselm's Reef, and the third at Forlorn Cove.

"And while we're talking about defenses," Nathaniel said, "I want to bring up the Alamar Archipelago. I can see the bloody islands from my bedroom window! It's time the pirates and marauders there were put down. They're supposed to be part of Ferelden, for Maker's sake!"

"I've tried to do something about the islands in the past," Loghain agreed, "and each time, the issue was tabled because of some greater crisis. Are they more lawless than usual?"

"Probably," sighed Delilah. "I know that a number of our refugees fled to them, and I suspect the weaker have been cruelly exploited and the stronger have turned to banditry. Perhaps the Crown could resurrect the title of Bann of Alamar. Perhaps if someone reliable had a stake in establishing order there, it would be an incentive."

"Or each of the three larger islands could have its own lord," Nathaniel suggested. "Brandel's Reach is huge. Not very fertile, I'll grant, but there's good pasturage there and plenty of harbors of a fishing fleet. It could be a splendid fiefdom for someone of energy and initiative."

Obligingly, the young man rolled out a map. Loghain leaned over the table, studying the lay of the land. There was the broad stretch of Brandel's Reach, and just to the west of it, the much smaller Fair Isle, which was less than ten miles from the harbor of Amaranthine. Further off to the east was Alamar Island, half the size of Brandel's Reach. and which boasted the only town in the archipelago of any size, also called Alamar. Another small, round island, Mourne, lay outside the mouth of Denerim Bay. Loghain has always thought there should be a fort on Mourne. It commanded the sea lanes to Ferelden's capital. In fact, there had once been such a fort, but it had fallen into decay nearly a hundred years before, and was now only roofless rubble. Mourne Castle should definitely be rebuilt, under the direct control of the Crown—or at least under their authority as lords of the arling of Denerim.

Loghain went home to Soldier's Peak, far lighter of heart. A Broodmother was dead and would spawn no more. He had the North behind him, and Ferelden was already a safer place.

* * *

The day after next would be First Day. They returned to a Soldier's Peak dressed for it: perfumed by evergreen boughs and decorated with painted silk banners. Loghain's own private welcome was particularly pleasurable, enjoyed in the privacy of his crimson bedecked quarters.

Maude was, of course, not his first pregnant wife. He would never tell her where he had learned the variety of positions and techniques that made her so comfortable and so very, very happy; but it would have been foolish not to put perfectly good experience to its proper use. Making her happy could only make him happy as well.

"Hmmm," she sighed, "I meant to show you how my spring-bow is progressing, but I don't want to get up and get dressed again. Maybe tomorrow morning."

"I can wait," he assured her, not inclined to get out of their warm bed either. "And you can tell me more about your sinister plans for First Day. What's this about a tournament? Anders won't like spending the day treating the wounded."

She wriggled back against him, a warm and delightful spoon. "Nobody's going to get wounded. I have a cunning plan that cannot fail. Now tell me about what Delilah said, or I'll wake up later and worry about it."

"It went extremely well." Briefly, he told her the substance of their conversation.

"I'm so glad," Maude approved. "Now we have to work on the King and Queen. I can't imagine why there are no lookouts at the north end of Brandel's Reach, if nowhere else. It's an obvious place to watch for invasion fleets—or even pirates for that matter."

"The Archipelago is full of pirates," Loghain grunted, wrapping an arm around his young wife.

"I know! But at least they're _our _pirates!"

That made him snort. "Delilah suggested creating some new new bannorns and freeholds out in the Archipelago. There's no doubt that would attract some young sons and daughters. Perhaps even some landless knights. I've never actually been there, myself."

"I think we should do something about that..." she murmured, half asleep. He was about to agree, but slept instead, deeply and dreamlessly.

Everyone was busy the following day, but down in the training room Maude took time to demonstrate a roughed- out version of her amazing new spring-loaded bow. Somehow Glassric and his team had been persuaded to put everything aside for the ten days Loghain had been gone, and had come up with a prototype. The stock was plain varnished whitewood and the gears were not perfectly smooth, but it worked after a fashion. For some reason Maude had named it "Roderick."

"Why Roderick?" Loghain asked.

"Why not?" she countered. "It looks like a Roderick to me. A good and faithful friend. Or it will be when Glassric tightens the spring a bit more. We haven't figured out the repeating mechanism and we don't have the sights quite perfect yet, but that will happen in time. Roderick is a work in progress. There's nothing wrong with that. We may replace the stock...or the barrel...or the mechanism...but Roderick will occupy the same space."

She flicked the cocking mechanism easily with one hand, and popped in another quarrel. She pressed the curved butt to her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The quarrel hit the center of the target, and the younger Wardens—and some not so young—cheered loudly.

The missile had gone half-way through the padded target. "Good penetration," Loghain grunted.

"Well," she smiled radiantly. "You know all about that."

* * *

All of First Day was a feast. Maude had hired minstrels, who filled the Great Hall with music. Every resident of Soldier's Peak had a present. Some, like Oghren's little daughter Maddie, had more than one, since Maude had leaned on the dwarf to remember his paternal responsibilities in the matter of gift giving. Somewhere, Oghren had found a little painted horse on wheels, with a bright red string to pull it along. Baby Maddie was a little young for it, but she was able to sit up on a blanket and hold it in a pudgy dwarf-baby fist. In addition, the little girl had new warm infant's dress of fine wool, lavishly embroidered with griffons by the hand and needle of Maude herself. Loghain hoped Maude would not dress their son in anything so horrible, but knew better than to say so.

Quite a few of the other Wardens had given the baby gifts. Maddie was the only baby at the Peak, and something of a pet. There were hand-whittled whistles and tops, painted blocks and glittering geodes, and a soft cloth doll with yarn hair and a wide crimson smile from Sigrun. Maddie was a dwarf, after all, so it was only to be expected that someone gave her a tiny rock hammer. Felsi, wisely, put that away for everyone's safety.

In the Great Hall, a central area of the black-and-white marble floor was roped off.

"For the tournament," Maude explained. And then she displayed the weapons. "Boffers," she called them.

They were ridiculously oversized clubs of soft leather, stuffed with feathers. Maude demonstrated one with a cheerful Darrow, by smacking him in the face with it.

It bounced. Darrow kept grinning. It seemed impossible to actually injure anyone with one of the "weapons," unless. as Osbeck speculated, you emptied out the stuffing and used the leather cover as a garrote.

"Not allowed!" Maude pronounced. "No strangling, whether with boffer weapons or with hands. In fact, hands cannot be used to punch, pinch, poke, pull, or prod the opponent. In addition, you will fight in teams, with one member riding on his partner's shoulders. The winners will use the boffer weapons to force their opponents out of the designated fighting zone."

Loghain, who did not like games, admitted it was all fairly amusing, especially after his third cup of wine. Everyone wanted to partner with Osbeck, of course. Maude had not pronounced it illegal for him to simply walk over opponents, thus encouraging people to use a bit of cunning—or speed in avoiding his rush. As a further refinement, they decided to blindfold the "mount."

"It's a training game," Maude assured him. "It teaches trust." She raised her voice, trying to be heard over the screams of laughter and the shrilling of flutes. Fimo, on Brangel, was flailing away at Bethany, on Ambrose. For a mage, Bethany was impressively physical. She thumped Brangel in the face, disorienting him. Brangel then lost his grip on Fimo's legs, and the dwarf slid backwards precariously, hitting Brangel with his boffer. Brangel staggered backwards, over the line.

"Bethany wins!" roared Darrow and Kain in unison. "Bethany wins!"The girl waved her arms over her head triumphantly, and her hands glowed blue. Little snowflakes drifted down to the floor from her fingers, glittering in the candlelight. There was more applause, and a vigorous discussion with Sketch and Anders concerning a possible contest of magic. Loghain shuddered for the safety of the Peak.

In the midst of the hilarity, the door opened to admit some unexpected guests, a pair of men cloaked against the cold outside, who gladly accepted the hot wine pressed on them by the Wardens. They made their way swiftly to the Head Table, looking about them, evidently impressed at the splendor of the castle. Maude looked up and waved.

"It's Captain Winters!" she cried. "That's his first mate, Crawley," she told Loghain. "Over here!" She budged over, closer to Loghain, to make room for the men. "Have some dinner!"

The men bowed, and Winters spoke. "Many thanks for your generosity, Your Grace—and yours, Warden-Commander."

Loghain frowned at the men. "You bring news?"

"We bring a First Day gift," the captain replied. "The ship is complete and our voyage to Breaker's Cove a success. Your vessel is safely harbored and ready for your use."

Loghain wondered if he dared ask. "Our _vessel?"_

"My boat—I mean, ship!" Maude got to her feet, glowing with delight. "Didn't I tell you about that, Loghain? I must have forgotten. We have a ship. It's very nice. I had all this extra coin when I was in Kirkwall, you see, and it seemed silly not to commission that ship I need. The _Wild Wyvern._ We can sail to Gwaren in it. We can go anywhere, for that matter. Are you _sure_ I didn't tell you about it?"

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Aoi24, MsBarrows, Draco664, Josie Lange, Enaid Aderyn, Juliafied, karinfan123, Zute, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, EpitomyofShyness, JackOfBladesX, Spoit0, Judy, Jenna53, Shikyo-sama, Shakespira, anon, Jyggilag, cloud1004, Tyanilth, mille libri, Phygmalion, graydevilforever, and Coldial._

_Anders figures out gaatlok in DA2: therefore he figures it out here._

_Roderick is the given name of Ser Gilmore, per canon.  
_


	41. Hideaway

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 41: Hideaway  
**

_"The water is wide,_

_I cannot get o'er._

_Neither have I _

_The wings to fly._

_Give me a boat _

_That will carry two,_

_And both shall row,_

_My love and I."_

"I love boats," Maude purred, from the blanketed and cushioned depths of her seat on the quarterdeck. She set her lute aside. "You can see all sorts of new things from a boat."

Loghain grunted, eyes on the passing landscape. Water was a foreign country, but he could hardly let Maude travel unprotected to Gwaren in her adored _Wild Wyvern._ People had always talked about sea travel making one puke, but Loghain, unlike some of his Wardens, had experienced little trouble. Surreptitiously, through narrowed eyes and little side glances, he had studied Captain Winters and his scabby First Mate Crawley, and gradually adopted the moronic bowlegged stance they used when aboard ship—and off it. It seemed to help.

And, truth be told, Maude was hardly alone anyway. Fergus was traveling with them, since Maude had begged her brother so winningly to be their child's godfather. Maude's powers of persuasive, coercion, and guilt seemed to work even in writing, at least with Fergus.

Fergus had not liked to leave Cauthrien and Caradoc, but wanted to help his sister. Being the child's godfather was a clear political declaration of alliance.

"And I'd like to see Gwaren," the young teyrn admitted. "I've never been there. I want to see the place where Maude will be spending so much time."

"Besides, if not you, then who would be Gareth's godfather, Fergus?" Maude inquired sweetly. "Of course, I could ask Ranger, and he'd do it, but there would be a problem with declaring the name in Chantry. Or maybe not. Maybe Ranger can actually say the name 'Gareth.'"

She looked around for the mabari, who immediately raised his head from his paws and trotted over.

"What about it, sweet boy?" Maude asked. "Do you think you could say 'Gareth?'"

"Gaurghff!" Ranger barked cheerfully.

"Close enough," Maude leaned back on her pillows, smiling. "And Ranger will be an extra godfather, anyway. Dogfather…" That made her laugh. "And Topaz will be Gareth's kind dogmother and Onyx his dogbrother. What a nice big family."

Fergus and Loghain, leaning on the rail together, exchanged a brief, wordless look. The dogs, however, seemed pleased at the idea, considering nothing more natural.

It had been a rather peaceful, pleasant voyage so far, with no storms and no attacks. They had seen a few ships on the horizon, but those vessels had not approached, probably noticing the Grey Warden banner flying from the mast. Pirates really would have to be complete idiots to attack a ship full of Wardens.

Mistress Woolsey had been appalled at the expenditure, and performed a minute audit to determine if Grey Warden funds had been used improperly. Maude was serenely unconcerned. It was proved beyond doubt that she had paid for the ship out of her own private fortune...and had made a good bargain of it, too. Loghain, once committed to the venture, began studying ship-building lore. This was a very fine ship of the type called a "topsail schooner," a very advanced design now being built in Hercinia and Wycome. It could be sailed with a small crew—even by two men alone, if need be—and was fast, maneuverable, and comparatively shallow-drafted, which made anchorage in Breaker's Cove possible. It had four cabins, decent quarters for the crew and a band of warriors, and would get them to Gwaren in less than a week, needing no stops for water or provisions.

The dirty grey horizon of Alamar slipped by, an unknown country of rocky shore and low-lying scrub.

"It's good to see this for myself," Fergus muttered. "It's easy to forget how big these islands are. I'll certainly back an initiative to bring them under proper Fereldan control. Anyone could build a base —and we wouldn't know until too late. I think next summer we need to send out a proper expedition and see what's here."

Below them, on the main deck, lounged the Grey Wardens brought on the mission to explore the Deep Roads beneath Gwaren. Chief among them, Morrigan and Anders gestured at the passing islands, their voices low.

They reached the Isle of Mourne the following day, and Loghain told Captain Winters that he wished to stop there and have a look at the remains of the old castle.

"Perhaps something can be done with it," he remarked.

Maude's smile was a carefully repressed flower. "You just want a chance to walk on dry land."

He gave her long braid a tug. "That is always a consideration."

"I'll stay with Maude," Fergus offered. "I don't like to leave her alone in her condition."

Maude rolled her eyes. "Oh, my 'condition!'"

A small party set out in the ship's boat. Loghain, the dogs, the two mages, Darrow, and Kain were rowed to the little cove on the southern shore. The cold of winter had crisped little pools of tidewater along the beach. The boatmen were left to wait, while the Wardens went exploring.

Anders, with teasing gallantry, handed Morrigan carefully out of the boat. She ran up on the heavy brown sand, sighing deeply in satisfaction, looking about her.

There was quite a bit to look at. A bluff rose up from the southwestern shore. Above it loomed the imposing hill upon which Castle Mourne decayed, its ancient stones irregular as broken teeth.

The castle had been built in the early days of the Blessed Age, when Ferelden had been far more flush with coin that it was now, and it had functioned as a watchtower and lighthouse. Later, the garrison had shrunk by attrition and false economy until only a handful were present to witness the great Orlesian fleet bearing "King" Meghren, as he sailed in triumph to an almost unresisting Denerim.

Mourne, impotent and unarmed, was ignored as the irrelevancy that it was. Loghain had no idea if the Orlesians had even bothered with it. He had never much bothered with it himself. The Orlesians, after all, had got their foothold by way of Amaranthine, coming down from the north. There had been no lighthouse keeper assigned to the old castle throughout the whole of Maric's reign.

Maude was right in a way: Loghain knew that his view of the world was insular, bound by the borders of his own beloved Ferelden. The world, however, was full of greedy foreigners with no respect for borders of any kind. And lots of them had ships.

A rugged path led up one side of the bluff, twisting and turning in its ascent. Loghain began studying it more carefully. He frowned.

Morrigan touched his arm and gave him a look. They passed under a scrubby tree, halted, and she abruptly shifted and took to the skies.

Loghain made a show of ambling slowly from the shade of the tree, drinking from his water flask.

"What?" whispered Anders.

Darrow muttered, "Others've been here. Very recent, too."

Loghain nodded briefly. In fact, this crude path was very well-traveled. Mourne, it seemed likely, was not uninhabited. Pirates? It was possible. Perhaps they had a boat hidden elsewhere. Who else would want to live in such an isolated spot?

They moved on, not hurrying. At a turn in the path, Anders moved into the cover of the rocks and shifted himself, winging off in search of Morrigan.

"Looks like fun, don't it?" Kain remarked.

The dogs hurried up to the summit, interested in the smells. There at the top was the half-extinguished remains of a campfire. Someone had been keeping watch up here and had dashed off to warn someone else.

"Keep your eyes open," Loghain warned. "And you dogs! Don't go haring off. I want a look at the castle."

Castle Mourne, they called it, but it was little more than a bare, square tower. A good place to keep watch, certainly. From up here, the entire island was visible, and the sea around it. The tower was roofless now, and much of the east wall was gone, but the first floor was largely intact. Down a trapdoor was a ladder leading to the cellar. Loghain could hear the trickle of water from a spring below. Their own water? A pity the little castle was in ruins. With a reliable water supply, Loghain felt he could have held the spot against an army.

Darrow grunted, jerking his head toward a corner. A raw, crudely-made ladder led up to the next level. The dogs did not seem to think anyone was up there, so Loghain nodded back, and Kain made his way up gingerly, dagger at the ready. He made barely a sound, moving about over their heads. After a few minutes he slid back down the ladder, and not alone. With him were Morrigan and Anders.

"A blanket up there and a few odds and ends. They keep a lookout there, but he don't live there permanent-like," Kain reported.

"Apostates," Anders announced cheerfully. "Nearly a dozen of them. They live in the remains of a little village not far from here."

"In the old Chantry, in fact," Morrigan added, brushing dust from her long-fingered hands. "'Tis the largest, sturdiest structure. They would not want to live in the tower. Aside from the state of the walls and roof, passing ships would see lights in the tower and questions would be asked."

"I think I should pay them a visit," Anders said. "I might know them! I can at least tell them they don't have run for their lives. Or row, as the case may be."

"Ask if any of them want to join the Wardens," Loghain ordered. "And we'll follow you, just in case they decide not to welcome a fellow mage with open arms."

They followed the path down the other side, staying in what cover there was. Anders swaggered ahead, hands up, smile on his handsome face.

Ahead was a shapeless stone chantry, not much bigger than a large cottage. Anders stood outside, calling out greetings. "I'm the Grey Warden Anders, late of the Circle of Magi! We were having a look at the old fort and saw your fire. Is there anything you need?

A long pause. The door cracked open slowly, and a pale face peered out from the shadows.

"Anders? Is that really you?"

"Petra!"

He started forward, pleased to see an old friend, when the door slammed open and a man stepped in front of Petra, arm out to protect her.

"Stop right there! What do you want?"

Nothing daunted, Anders kept his empty hands visible, still smiling. "Wanted to say hello, Kinnon! We saw the signs that someone lived here. I snooped around and saw you were mages. I didn't want you to think we were after you. Now that I find you're all old classmates, I thought I'd drop by and see how you're doing."

Petra pushed past impatiently. "He's all right, Kinnon! It's Anders!"

"He's not alone!" came a frightened voice from inside the Chantry. "They're not all mages! There's a ship at anchor out there!"

At least it now became apparent why the Circle had not released Enchanter Petra to the Queen. She had escaped after the Battle of Denerim, and a band of her friends with her. Loghain was impressed at their initiative in finding this isolated spot.

He stepped forward, out of cover, along with his companions. He motioned to the dogs, and they sat quietly, panting but unthreatening. There was frantic, whispered conversation among the mages. Clearly, he had been recognized. From their frightened looks, Loghain could see that Petra and the other mages did not trust him. Considering the demonic chaos that his agreement with that lunatic Uldred had unleashed at the Circle, he could not much blame them. Petra and Kinnon wanted to know where Maude was, whom they did trust.

"Out on the boat there," Anders waved. "She'd love to see you, but she's up the spout in a big way, poor girl, and I can't see making her climb up hill and down dale in the shape she's in. Don't worry, though. Loghain knows I'd tattle to her if he did you dirt."

Morrigan burst out laughing...cackling really. Loghain inwardly predicted she would be as formidable an old hag as her mother Flemeth, given a few decades.

"I'm not going to do anything of the sort!" Loghain bit out testily. "If any of you want to Join the Wardens, you'd be welcome. Otherwise, we're hardly going to inform the Templars that you're here. We have nothing to gain from it. Much of our mage recruiting comes from apostates, after all."

Anders wanted to catch up with his old friends, but it was clear that to demand hospitality of the precarious little colony would place unreasonable pressure on it. All the mages had that look of living rough, their once-elaborate robes bedraggled and frayed.

Petra told their story in brief. "After the battle, we went north and wandered in the Blackmarsh for awhile. We were safe from Templars, but the place was haunted by spirits and demons. We found an old fishing boat on the far side of the peninsula and when we saw Mourne a few miles away... well, we knew we'd be out of range of the Templars even if they had our phylacteries. The island was completely deserted. Why shouldn't we live here? We're not doing anyone any harm!"

"Can't we give them some of our extra supplies?" Anders pleaded with Loghain. "Look, it can come out of my pay. These are good people. I grew up with them."

"They must learn to take care of themselves!" Morrigan said coolly. "First they needed Maude to save them from becoming abominations, and now they want us to save them from starvation?"

Kinnon overheard them and stiffened in outraged pride. "We're not starving! There are fruit trees and nut trees on the island, and we do all right getting birds and fish—even bird's eggs. A change would be nice, I admit, but we're not about to die!"

"You've learned to use a bow?" Loghain asked, interested. He had never heard of mages hunting. Well, other than shape-shifting mages gobbling rats and rabbits.

"No," Kinnon admitted. "I'll show you."

A band of the shabby mages took them out to a bluff, proud to display their accomplishments. Kinnon could fire a very precise bolt of lightning at birds on the wing, bringing them down only half-cooked. Others were mastering the skill, but Kinnon was still the best at it. Fish were even easier: a hard slam of magical force would kill fish in the water within a certain radius, and they would then float to the top to be harvested. The mages had learned to prepare their kills and even to cook, after a fashion, but they had not had sufficient supplies to garden effectively, and their clothes were falling to rags.

Loghain felt it was no concern of his, but if Anders wanted to help them and would pay for the supplies, there was no reason not to indulge him. Keeping their best Healer happy was fairly important.

"We can spare them some flour and salt," he said grudgingly. "Perhaps some cider—"

"Cider!" cried a girl mage, ecstatic.

Loghain grunted. It was years ago, but he remembered what life on the run was like. "Maybe some sailcloth..."

"Might we," Petra said beseechingly, "have a needle and thread? And scissors? We never thought of taking them when we ran. We never had to make our own clothes. We did remember a cooking pot and a big spoon."

"And a hatchet," Kinnon added, pleased with himself. "Anything like a weapon was easy to pick up. We've got lots of weapons."

Anders took Morrigan aside for a quiet, intense conversation. She sighed theatrically, and came back, saying, "Very well. At least they are attempting to be free. I shall speak to Maude."

"Make a list," Loghain ordered Petra. "We'll see what we can do. And Anders...it _is_ coming out of your pay."

They were admitted to the little crumbling Chantry. The broken windows were covered with crudely hewn boards, and the sacred brazier kept the interior pleasantly warm. Loghain looked around, surprised that hothouse flowers like Circle mages could contrive even this well for themselves. He snorted at the sight of the bookshelves. They might not have needle and thread, but trust the mages to have books. A soft, gurgling wail rose from a corner. Loghain stepped closer, while the mages bristled anxiously.

It was a baby, perhaps six months old, wriggling in a crate turned makeshift cradle. A pair of young mages hovered, frightened and defiant.

"We're not going back," the pale-faced young mother said hoarsely. "They'd take our baby and raise her as a Chantry stooge. They'd teach her to hate us. We really would rather die."

If Maude saw these people, she would heap them with presents. When she heard about them, she would be nearly as bad. And Loghain was not entirely without sympathy toward people who loved their freedom. It was quite obvious that he would not be able to press Petra into going to Denerim to care for Anora and Rhoswyn. It would be impossible to conceal her presence. The Templars would be after her instantly, and either send her back to the Circle, now commanded by an Orlesian martinet, or they would simply execute her as an apostate. Better to leave these Ferelden citizens as they were. The thought of contravening Ser Berengar de Mal...what was that stupid Orlesian name?...Maleficar...Malfunction...what have you...was oddly satisfying.

"Do any of you actually know anything about gardening?"

"I used to help in the herb garden sometimes," Petra said, looking up from her scrap of parchment. "Obviously in the middle of the month of Guardian..."

"We could stop by on our return and leave some seeds and equipment."

Anders was positively incandescent with delight. Morrigan smirked knowingly at Loghain. She took the completed list from Petra.

"Very well," she said carelessly, swaggering out the door. "I shall speak to Maude, whilst you men row back. By the time they reach the ship, we will have put together what we can."

Petra was puzzled at Morrigan's words, and walked outside with them. The refugees were awed beyond words at the sight of the hawk soaring out over the sea to the waiting ship, a piece of parchment in her beak.

"That's my Morrigan," Anders declared smugly. "She's amazing!"

* * *

While sensible enough not to short their own people, Maude was predictably generous. Morrigan must have told her about the baby, for in addition to the food and drink, there was a soft little blanket and a ridiculous little infant dress, embroidered with dragons, along with a pile with nappies and some bolts of sailcloth. She had put together a sewing basket with what she could spare, and included a pair of knitting needles and a huge ball of yarn.

"I doubt any of them know how to knit," Loghain pointed out.

"Well, they had better _learn,_" Maude replied briskly. "Or I can show them when we come back. Warm socks always make me feel much more optimistic about life in general this time of year."

Morrigan was also a sensible woman, and had not openly said that the refugees were mages—simply that Anders knew them. Fergus Cousland was always sympathetic to Blight refugees, and would not hear of Anders bearing the cost, instead donating his own coin as an act of charity.

He pursed his lips, thinking. "The island could easily support some sheep or goats. We could pick up a few in Gwaren and drop them off on the voyage home."

They rowed back to the little mage hideaway on Mourne, the boat riding low in the water with its burdens. The mages met them at the shore, grateful and excited.

"How can we ever thank you?" cried Petra.

Loghain had given some thought to that.

"See that no pirates or invaders gain a foothold here, as far as you can. You're powerful mages. There are enough of you to deal with anything other than an Orlesian or Qunari warship. I was hoping to persuade the King and Queen to station a garrison here, but perhaps you would do as well."

In fact, he was already considering further possibilities. Why not leave these harmless mages in their little hideaway? He would mention the "refugees" to Anora. A bit of coin, and the Glavonaks could repair the tower; the mages could receive regular supplies in exchange for one of the inhabitants performing the duties as lighthouse keeper. Refugees supported in return for useful service—what could be more proper? It would not be expensive, and it would be another layer of protection between Denerim and the hostile world beyond.

* * *

Gwaren was happy to see him. Really.

Loghain could understand why Gwaren was happy to see Maude: beautiful, happy, magnificently gowned, and enormously pregnant. She was a symbol of the new order, which is always, always supposed to be better than the old. And Gwaren, certainly, greeted Maude with cheers and enthusiasm, even if no one among Gwaren's gruff citizens seemed to have washed since Loghain last saw them.

But Gwaren was happy to see him, too. Rather surprising, all things considered, but not disagreeable. He refused to smile for them, but he permitted himself a few grave nods.

Word of their arrival spread very quickly. Quite a few people hurried to the docks to see them disembark. Quite a few nobles, too. Loghain acknowledged some men and women he recognized. Had they been in town waiting for the Regent? It seemed that perhaps they had.

It was curious, but Loghain was also rather glad to see Gwaren. He had spent years here, before Rowan died and it became his duty to support Maric in Denerim. They had not been unhappy years.

Besides, Gwaren was the one city in Ferelden that was not much changed by the Blight. There had been some rioting during the civil war, but not a great deal of damage. The Keep, squat and old-fashioned, was still intact, as well as the narrow, filthy streets with the rows and rows of half-timbered buildings and the occasional heavy log structure. Gwaren was famed for its dense old forests, and wood was cheap and plentiful. There was also no dearth of skilled woodworkers. Even the ancient image of Andraste in Gwaren Chantry was of wood: good hard whitewood, now blackened with centuries of soot from candles and braziers.

The Chantry was their first stop, of course: a public blessing of Maude's pregnant belly; a public thank-you for her condescension in coming to Gwaren to bear the new teyrn; a public welcome to Loghain, whom the Revered Mother Corianta knew not to refer to as "Teyrn." Nonetheless, she waxed lyrical over his deeds in saving Ferelden from the Blight and his victory over the Archdemon. He was Hero, Savior, Dragonslayer: their gratitude knew no bounds. Loghain glanced at Maude from the corner of his eye, but she remained unruffled and smiling, glittering with jewels and glowing with new life.

Fergus, too, enjoyed his share of notice. A Teyrn of Highever was Somebody, and there was some fairly loud and frank discussion going on about his good looks and manly bearing. The news of his son's birth had penetrated even to the southern forests. In fact, the people of Gwaren felt no hesitation in making their opinions known about any of them. Some whispered and muttered, and others shared their views freely with their neighbors. After the final blessing, the last vestiges of repression vanished, and the chatter became a din of excited gossip. There was nothing to be done but run the gauntlet—at a dignified, unhurried pace, of course.

"—_Fine looking man, that. I wouldn't mind if…"_

"_—Good breeders, those Couslands,"_ one old hag boomed._ "Good blood and good looks. So I've always heard…"_

"—_A fine thing for our Loghain…"_

_"—Looking well, ain't he?"  
_

"—_They shouldn't make her walk so fast. She looks ready to pop."_

"—_Not for a week or two, I'd judge. She's still carrying the lad high…"_

"—_It might be another little maid like our Anora…"_

"—_No, it's not! I can tell..."_

It was quite a procession from the Chantry to the Keep: the Wardens dressed in their pristine tunics, and the Gwaren guardS lining the way. They looked less rustic than Loghain's memory of them: Maude had probably given them all new tunics, too: colorful tunics blazoned with the Gwaren wyvern.

"Nice to see home again," Darrow rumbled to Kain, from the ranks behind Loghain. "At least they haven't burned the place down, _unlike_ most of Ferelden."

The gates of the Keep swung open, and Allonby greeted them, bowing low; a beaming, almost excited Allonby. It was actually rather touching. Loghain had to quietly remind him that it was Maude who Was the Regent of Gwaren, and not Loghain; but nothing seemed to quench the man's enthusiasm.

"I'll send out word to the banns and all the noble families," the man declared. "Would it please you to hold Court tomorrow, or the day after?"

"The day after, if you please," Maude told him pleasantly. "We need to settle in a bit. And besides, we'll want to hold a feast, and surely the kitchens need a bit of notice to start roasting and baking."

"Of course, Your Grace!"

Loghain merely grunted, signaling his assent to Allonby, who knew how to interpret Loghainese. It had been years since Loghain had been here, and he did indeed want to explore and find his feet after so long. He felt like one of the dogs, sniffing here and there.

Immediately on coming into the Great Hall, he began to comprehend what Maude had been up to during her first visit here.

"It looks different," he said. He frowned. The white-painted wood ceiling was gone. It had always been impossible to keep it from looking grubby. Celia had to have it washed every spring. With the boards taken down and gone, complicated vaulting was revealed, and it was all very…colorful.

"Yes," Maude said primly. "When I had the place thoroughly cleaned and got rid of some ugly old wainscoting, I found out that there was that wonderful groin vaulting and a decorative border along the wall. The tops the pillars are carved and painted, too. You see? Who knew? I didn't tell you because I wanted to surprise you. Some of the images needed touching up, but it was worth the effort. I like it, even the naughty bits."

Loghain stopped and stared. Behind him, the older Wardens sniggered. The younger were entranced.

"That lady's _naked,__"_ whispered a young archer from White River. "A naked picture! I heard of them! Gwaren is really sophisticated, innit? "

"Shut up, you lot" barked Darrow. "That's not a naked picture! It's Art. You can tell by the urn next to her. Urns mean it's Art."

"Oh."

Well, not all of it was naughty. It was actually very interesting, and Loghain promised himself a good long look at it later. It must date from the Black Age or earlier—probably from the days when Gwaren was an independent teyrnir. There were hunting scenes in which fabulous beasts were being made bloodily extinct; and yes, domestic scenes in which extraordinarily endowed men and women were expressing affection in energetic ways; there were scenes of chivalry in which noblemen were lopping off sundry heads; and scenes of rosy-cheeked maidens picking flowers while their suitors languished on the painted verdure nearby, looking up their skirts. There were lots of Symbols, and heraldic animals, and many, many urns. Yes, it was certainly Art.

Fergus was grinning. "It's _fantastic! _I predict that scholars and travelers will come from the four corners of Thedas to see it."

Loghain snorted, rather amused. "What other discoveries have you made?"

"Not many," Maude shrugged. "This was the big one. Oh—there was the sweetest little room hidden away behind a cupboard. I might use it as the nursery. I think it was used to lock somebody important away once, but then they put the cupboard in front the door and everyone forgot about it. Watch your head, Fergus. Gwaren Keep is full of low arched doors. I don't know how you missed cracking your skull open, Loghain!"

"I did, a few times," Loghain confessed.

"Ha! The Voric family must have been as short as dwarves, at least in the old days."

The Vorics, of course, were extinct, at least in the main line. They had particularly enraged the Orlesians, first by their physical resistance to occupation, and more especially because a Voric had married Queen—then Princess— Moira and fathered Maric. That nobleman had been killed in battle very young, and Maric had never known him. Nonetheless, Maric and Cailan had been in a sense the last of the Vorics. Maric had had the best claim to the teyrnir, a fact that had enabled him to bestow it on Loghain.

Well, Alistair and Rhoswyn had Voric blood, too. They were now the only living direct descendants of Teyrn Cathaoir, the last Voric teyrn of Gwaren. Perhaps that was why Anora had wanted to so much to maintain ties to the teyrnir. Well, she couldn't have both Denerim and Gwaren: that had been made clear to her. Denerim had been her choice, and Loghain still felt she had made the correct one. Denerim was far more useful in establishing a strong central monarchy.

Their Wardens were shown to decent quarters. Anders and Morrigan were given a nearby guest room, and Fergus the King's Chamber. Loghain did not protest. It was not surprising that Maude would want her brother to have the best during his visit.

With some trepidation, he followed her to the Teyrn's quarters, the sprawling apartments that had been his home with Celia for long years.

They were changed. Not shockingly so, but the hand of a new mistress was apparent in the fresh green draperies and the rearranged furnishings. And, of course, in the extra armor and weapon stands, as well. There was a very large dog bed by the fire, with room enough for the entire pack.

Off the bedchamber was a sunny room that Celia had used first as Anora's nursery and later as a private refuge. Here she had sewn and knit and read her romances. The Teyrn's own very large office was on the floor below. It was clear that Maude had made this into her own private study and play-place. In a corner was a stuffed practice dummy that had manifestly lost all its fights with her. And with Ranger, too, from the gnawed bits. The face was painted to resemble a Hurlock. It wore a cheerful knit cap with a red bobble on top.

"That's Mr Growley," Maude remarked. "He's a lot of fun. I'll have to see what Roderick does to him. Let me show you that hidden room. It's neat."

In the sitting room was a huge wardrobe that as far as Loghain knew, had never been moved. Maude had moved it to the wall opposite the window—or had it moved, for moving it would require a number of strong backs. Yet another low arched doorway was revealed in the place where it had stood. The painted stones were vivid, protected as they had been from sunlight and human contact.

"How did you happen to notice it?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "I was just looking around. You know… Sometimes I tap on walls and cupboards, because you never know."

Loghain remembered the secret hiding places in Highever House. It was possible, he realized, that secret hiding places were not particular only to the Cousland family.

"Anyway," she said. "The sound was different…hollow. I knew something was up, even though I couldn't see under the cupboard since it goes all the way to the floor. So I had it moved. Allonby thought I was mad, but then I found this doorway. Come and see. I've had the place cleaned, so it's not entirely shrouded in spider webs anymore."

A little stone stairway led up. Loghain ducked down, avoiding the the stony-hard top of the arched passage. At the top was a fine old painted cupboard. Around a sharp corner and up a few more steps was a small room under a a low, low vaulted ceiling. Maude could just stand up under most it. Loghain had to stoop. Light filtered in through small semicircular windows, which peered out onto the roof like surprised eyebrows. A low bed was made up with an obviously new featherbed and fresh linens. Maude had furnished the room with a small table and chair, a bookcase, and a chest. An old bronze lantern, green with age, hung from the middle of the ceiling, where the points of the vault met.

A child would love this place. It was the perfect hideaway.

"This is no prisoner's room," Loghain said. "I think it more likely that someone lived here—I would guess a woman or a child— and the room was shut up because something unpleasant happened. What sorts of things did you find here?"

"Not much," Maude shrugged. "It had been cleared out pretty thoroughly before they left it to the dust and spiders. The bed was here, though... Isn't it gorgeous?"

"I suppose," Loghain grunted. "All the more reason to believe that someone lived here that the lord of the castle valued. If you use it as a nursery, you'll want a very short nursemaid. That, or you'll need a good Healer on staff."

* * *

Anders was reasonably confident that Maude would not go into labor for another fifteen days or so. Loghain was anxious to have a look at the Deep Roads and keep his Wardens in training. He decided that after the formalities of Court and feast were held, he would take his people down into the Deep Roads under Gwaren to see what was lurking—or failing to lurk—there. Among his old papers in the office was the crude map he had made from memory thirty years before, when he, Maric, and Rowan and come to Gwaren by way of the Deep Roads, supported by the Legion of the Dead. He matched his fine new maps to that crude old scrawl and was rather pleased with himself to find it fairly accurate.

And Katriel had been there, too, of course. Traveling by way of the Deep Roads had actually been the elven bard's idea. Of course it had worked out well. Sometime between the slaughter of West Hill—largely engineered by the treacherous bitch herself—and the time they met up, escaping the battle, Katriel had finally decided that Maric's charms were worth more than the Orlesians' rewards. Much good it did the dead of West Hill. He snarled softly, as he always did, thinking of Katriel.

She had saved them...or saved Maric, because she didn't give a copper for Loghain or Rowan... but she had ruined Maric, too. Maric had eventually discovered her treason and executed her personally. He had done the sensible thing and made Rowan his queen, but he was never quite _right_ after. He had not wanted to be king, and resisted passively in all sorts of exasperating ways.

If Loghain had it to do over again, would he have forced Maric to be King?

Yes. There had been no one else who could have reunited Ferelden. Maric might have been a figurehead, supported by Loghain and Rowan, but he was a _convincing_ figurehead, with the kind of charisma that wins hearts and minds. So what then? Would Loghain have have forced Rowan to go to Maric and be his Queen?

That was more problematic. If Rowan were not Queen, who could have been? Eleanor Bryland-Pengallon was already married to Bryce Cousland, and Howe had no sisters. There were only minor noblewoman otherwise, and none of them would have had the energy or talent to uphold Maric as King. It was a miserable thing to contemplate, but he could think of no way to keep Rowan for himself.

Of course, he could have kept Maric from killing Katriel, though that was exactly what the bitch deserved. Instead, he could have restrained Maric and persuaded him to banish the woman...though Maker only knew what the slag would have got up to... Or Maric could have had her locked up in Fort Drakon, put to work in the laundry. Perhaps not killing the woman, but allowing her to grow old in captivity would have prevented Maric's descent into guilt and depression. He hated to admit it, but perhaps stage-managing Maric's discovery of Katriel's treason, and then encouraging Maric to kill her had been a mistake.

Maric had met Katriel here in Gwaren, too. There were all sorts of memories here. Celia and young Anora were here, around each and every corner. Loghain decided that some time in the Deep Roads would help him keep focused on the present.

* * *

Other than a few blind caverns with isolated pockets of darkspawn, the major passages under Gwaren were clean. That one next- to- last band had been nasty enough to give his new people some needed practice. What they found, in addition, was quite a bit of treasure. Loghain remembered Shale's story about the mage Wilhelm, and how he had explored the Deep Roads for purposes of looting. And then too, wasn't that what the Hawke fellow, Bethany's brother, had been doing in the Deep Roads? It was what they had found for themselves, during their explorations of the Roads under Amaranthine. After a Blight, the Roads were comparatively safe, and Loghain now understood that there were ages of riches down in the tunnels below Thedas. He let his Wardens share out quite a bit of the loot, kept a fifth to add to the Warden's coffers, and chose an amazing necklace of gold and intaglio emeralds to take home to Maude.

Thus enriched, Loghain resealed the Gwaren Deep Roads entrance and marched back to the Keep with his Wardens.

Maude had not yet destroyed Gwaren. Indeed, the town seemed peaceful and even cheerful. The Wardens were cheered and applauded in the streets, though a few old ladies felt not the least hesitation in publicly scolding Loghain.

"My lord! You should be home with your wife and son!" one them shrilled.

For a horrible moment, Loghain thought he had 1) missed the birth, and 2) that Maude would absolutely kill him. Then the other old hag put in her oar.

"Been holding it in, waiting for you, like as not. What men put us poor women through!"

Loghain refused to look behind and see the effects these words had on his Wardens. All of them, other than Morrigan, were carefully silent. She allowed herself a rich, malicious chuckle. Loghain scowled, and picked up the pace.

"I'll have a look at her as soon as we're there," Anders promised, a little pale.

"You are both absurd," Morrigan told them. "Maude is perfectly capable of dealing with childbirth. If necessary, she would _persuade_ the child to come quietly!"

And after all, Maude _did_ look fine, if still immensely pregnant, when they burst through the door of the Office of the Teyrn.

So fine that she nearly put a crossbow bolt through Loghain.

"Whoa!" she shouted. "Loghain! I thought you must be an invading army, the way you came thundering up the stairs! Hullo, Anders, did you find any nice stuff in the Deep Roads?"

"Lots," Anders admitted, flashing his wand at her. "How do you feel?"

"I feel fine. Look at how accurate Roderick's getting!"

Loghain turned, On the wall opposite her desk, crossbow bolts spelled out "**MAUDE"** with admirable precision.

"Yes, very nice," he said. He took another look. "Are you sure you're fine?"

"Am I not supposed to be? Really, I'm fine, considering that I'm two people right now. Fergus is out hunting boar with the bores. That's awfully nice of him. If the nobles entertain him they can't pester me. And we get wild boar out of it, so it's all good. You know," she said, sniffing the air doubtfully. "You both really, really smell like the Deep Roads. That's not good. I propose baths all around."

* * *

He could not smell it himself, but come to think of it, the servants had looked rather put off. Baths were therefore ordered, and a much cleaner Loghain returned to the Teyrn's Office to find Maude busily engaged in reading through a pile of parchment. On a side table was a platter of sandwiches and a goblet of wine. Loghain set to, unabashed.

"Today's letters," she told him. "Some of them were forwarded by courier from Soldier's Peak. Pull up a chair. When you finish that sandwich, you may kiss me."

Belatedly aware that he committed a breach of marital manners, Loghain set the sandwich aside, and kissed his wife with particular care.

"I missed you," Maude said frankly. "I'm glad you're back. Now you can eat."

He did. Feeling much better, he looked through the Warden correspondence. Keenan said the Peak was fine. Woolsey said the books were balanced. Hector Pentaghast had written some interesting gossip about trouble brewing in Orlais. Peyrolle, the Warden Commander, was getting on toward his Calling, and there was a great deal of politicking going on, as Wardens positioned themselves to succeed him.

"Bastard," sneered Loghain. "If anyone deserves a Calling, it's Peyrolle."

Maude looked up from her reading. "Peyrolle's on his way out? I wish Leliana would write to me. I beginning to wonder if something has happened to her."

"Apparently there's some unrest among the candidates for Warden-Commander."

"There are over a thousand Orlesian Wardens," Maude said. "A lot of noble younger sons go into the Wardens. It's not surprising that they treat it like any other noble perquisite. I'm sure the Empress has some influence, but in the end the First Warden will make the appointment. He could appoint some Orlesian-born flunkey of his who's spent his whole career in Weisshaupt."

Loghain snorted, "Our current First Warden probably_ is_ a big enough fool to do something of the sort." He took another sandwich, and they went on with their reading.

"This is from Varric in Kirkwall," Maude said, delighted. "Ooo! Significant! Some Kirkwall merchants are targeting Amaranthine ships. We'd better pass that on to Delilah. Speaking of whom, I have a letter from Delilah right here...

She cracked the seal, read quietly for a few second before bursting out in a high shriek. Loghain dropped his sandwich.

"What's that?" Maude said, staring in disbelief at the letter. "Nathaniel's getting _married?"_

Loghain took the parchment away and scanned it quickly._  
_

"'…_to __a__ distinguished __and__ wealthy__ Marcher__ lady__…__'"_ He frowned. "Nathaniel couldn't find a proper Ferelden girl?"

"Probably not a wealthy one," Maude pointed out. "Teagan got Habren, who was the only rich heiress left in Ferelden! I can't blame Nathaniel. Amaranthine needs coin, and I can see he doesn't much like the idea of borrowing from us ….wait…I know that name from somewhere…"

"Barbarella de Launcet?" Loghain scowled. "An _Orlesian?"_

"A Kirkwaller!" Maude shouted triumphantly, thumping the desk. "The family came from Orlais, and they've kept up the connections..and the accent. Bethany mentioned them. I'll have to tell her! Her mother wanted Adam to marry this girl…or her sister…or both of them. I forget. She says they're complete cows. This is the one they call Babette."

Loghain sneered, unimpressed with Nathaniel's choice. All the more reason for Delilah to find a husband and produce an heir. If she did not, Amaranthine would someday have an arl whose mother was a complete cow. Ferelden had enough of those already.

"He's getting married in Denerim. During the Landsmeet," Maude read on. "Poor lamb. I've got to write Varric right away and get every detail about her!" She scowled and settled back in her chair. "But maybe not now. I feel very odd. Could you call for some tea, Loghain? I don't feel much like moving."

By the time the tea came, she was fidgeting restlessly. She took a few sips, and then got up to pace ponderously around the room, her hand rubbing her lower back. "This is icky. This isn't right."

Loghain summoned the servant again, but this time to fetch Anders.

* * *

By the time Fergus and his hunting party returned, some hours had passed, and the process of bringing Gareth MacTir into the world was well on its way. Following Anders' advice, Maude tried to stay active in her grand bedchamber, walking a little, listening to more letters, trying to dictate one or two. Morrigan kept her entertained with the whole story of looting the Gwaren Deep Roads; and Loghain presented the emerald necklace, which diverted Maude for quite some time, as she analyzed the carved intaglio images.

"Tevinter, I think. Very old. I like it. Thank you, Loghain. Lots of dragons, which is fine. This one's a wyvern. How appropriate. Gwaren heraldry aside, do you think there really were wyverns in Gwaren once?"

She was babbling, but it was his duty to indulge her. "I know there were. The foresters are a determined lot though, and seemed to have axed the last one back in the Steel Age. I'm told there used to be a stuffed wyvern here in the Keep, but when the Orlesians invaded, they stole it."

"Typical. A whole stuffed wyvern. That must have been some trick, fitting a whole stuffed wyvern onto a ship. I'd like to see that. Actually, I'd like to see a real wyvern. They still have them in the Planascene Forest, I'm told. I should have done more exploring there when I was in Kirkwall. Maker knows when I'll ever go back." She paced a little more. "Don't forget that when you declare Gareth you son, you have to let me declare him Teyrn, since I'm the Regent."

"No, Maude, I won't forget," Loghain promised her. Did she think he was an idiot? No, she was just being a woman in labor...

The housekeeper and her maids fussed, arranging more lights on the table by the elaborate birthing stool; laying out extra linen, and bringing in an ancient cradle, lavished with carved wyverns and dragons; with bears and wolves and hawks. Morrigan laughed, pointing out a pair of tiny spiders along the side.

"I found it on one of my hunts around the Keep," Maude said proudly. She winced, desperately uncomfortable. "I like it a lot," she said, after the pain had subsided. "It was a little musty, but it cleaned up very well."

Fergus arrived, thoroughly washed, serious, and kind. The nobility were trickling in: Bann Stronar and his Lady Fionne; Bann Geraint and Lady Lynette; Bann Morwenna all the way from the Southron Hills, with her husband Lord Daltrey. More and more arrived, including the Revered Mother Corianta and her entourage. Loghain could see that Maude had done good, persuasive work there; for the elderly priest did not blink an eye at Anders' presence, nor at that of Morrigan.

Maude smiled on them all, forcing herself into gracious hostess mode. She greeted them, and the gentlemen were led away by Fergus to the old Dragonthorn Parlor, for games and drink and talk, while the ladies settled into comfortable chairs and benches thoughtfully prearranged for the event.

Bann Morwenna was a brilliant chessplayer, and kept Maude engaged in a game until the pains grew too severe. The birthing stool finally beckoned, and Maude was settled on it, looking very doubtful. Loghain sat on one side and Ranger crowded close on the other, whining in sympathy. Maude scratched his ears and seemed soothed by his presence. The other dogs huddled nearby, loving brown eyes fixed on Maude.

"I think things have been arranged _very badly_ for women!" she whispered to Loghain, dark brows knit in displeasure. "This is a thoroughly nasty business! It's times like these that convince me that the Maker really is a man!"

Loghain glanced over at the priests, who were happily distracted by the spiced wine offered by the housekeeper.

"Perhaps so, but by tomorrow you will have a son in that cradle and all this will be over!"

"I hope so!" she muttered. "This hurts almost as badly as the time my hand was stepped on by a genlock." The memory seemed to cheer her up. "That was worse," she admitted. "Also the time that undead corpse stabbed me at Castle Redcliffe. Right through the shoulder. Maker, that _hurt._ And no decent loot, either."

"Well," Loghain said, seizing on this happy train of thought. "Though you hurt now, you're going to get a baby out of it. That's not quite loot, I suppose, but you can't say you're suffering for nothing."

It worked.

"That's true," Maude agreed, eyes brightening. "That's very true. It's like the time I got my eyebrows burnt off by that dragon in the elven burial temple, but then I found its hoard!"

"Exactly," Loghain said, holding her hand.

In due course, the force of gravity triumphed, and young Gareth dropped from his mother into Anders' sure and waiting hands. Maude bore the last, worst pains most manfully...womanfully?...and though she looked pale and disoriented, she never swooned or collapsed. The afterbirth followed, while cooing ladies and beaming maids washed the tiny, lustily protesting boy and swaddled him warmly. Maude was cleaned up herself, and Loghain carried her off to her soothing bed, just in time for the waiting noblemen to enter and see their new liege-lord—or nephew—for themselves.

Loghain's vision was abruptly filled with a minute pink person in white linen, glaring up at him in comic displeasure. He was hardly aware of lifting him high and saying the ritual words. This was his Gareth, named for his beloved father. How pleased and proud Da would be...

A thousand possibilies flashed through Loghain's imagination. What kind of man would this boy become? A warrior, a scholar, or a diplomat? A trickster, a rascal, or a noble knight beyond reproach? There was so much to teach him—so much lore to share: the weight of Loghain's experience; the power of Maude's keen wit. In a whirl of images a dark-haired boy waved a toy sword, rode a pony, played with the dogs, learned to read, grew tall, kissed a girl for the first time...

Maude had her arms out, eyes blazing in joy and possessive triumph. Loghain gave the baby to her, almost reluctantly. She was nearly exhausted, but managed to rally for the last, crucial effort...

"Behold, nobles of Gwaren, your rightful Teyrn, Gareth MacTir!"

* * *

_Thank you my reviewers: Coldial, Mike, kdarnell2, Zute, EpitomyofShyness, Phygmalion, tgcgoddess, Shakespira, Shikyo-sama, JackOfBladesX, , MsBarrows, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Kira Kyuu, Josie Lange, mille libri, Jyggilag, wuoreb, cloud1004, Judy, Enaid Aderyn, karinfan123, Jenna53, and graydevilforever._

_Urns as a sign of Art is a shameless rip-off of Terry Pratchett._

_I was watching Ivan the Terrible, Part I the other day. The hidden room is based on the charming little nest belonging to Ivan's wife Anastasia.  
_

_Happy Holidays to all! The season to be jolly may delay the next chapter of Victory at Ostagar somewhat.  
_


	42. Landsmeets, Bloody Landsmeets

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 42: Landsmeets, Bloody Landsmeets**

The baby was so very small to be taking his first sea voyage. Loghain had avoided seafaring for over fifty years, and here was his little son Gareth, not even a month old, swinging happily in his glorious cradle on the deck of the _Wild Wyvern. _Near the cradle, placidly knitting, was his middle-aged human nursemaid Mairead, and near her was the young elf who Maude had engaged as a lady's maid. Clerys had large eyes, long braids wounded around her head, and an uncertain but hopeful expression. Her greatest virtues were her unfailing ability to get stains out of silk and her burning desire to see some part of the world other than the Gwaren Alienage._  
_

Gareth had more than serving maids to guard him, to be sure. The dogs surrounded the cradle. Onyx, who was so very curious about the baby, would get up occasionally and peer in, wagging a stubby black tail.

Darrow and Kain, too, seemed to feel a special responsibility, and would come over to look at the swaddled little mite, grinning soppily.

Gareth had an adoring uncle in Fergus, who seemed to find every gurgle and mew proof of remarkable intelligence. And Anders totally abused his duties as Healer, taking every possible opportunity to hold his infant patient and talk inanities at him.

Morrigan could hardly be described as soppy or inane, but she took notice of little Gareth in her own cool and practical way, and did not object to lending a hand with him on occasion. Her input consisted mainly in rebuking those she considered a bad influence.

"The child is not a toy or a pet, Anders!" Morrigan scolded. "He is a person! If you persist in chattering on in this ridiculous way, you will turn him simple-minded! Speak to him as a rational creature lest you stunt his development!"

"But he's not a rational creature yet!" Anders beamed, ticking Gareth's soft little chin. "He's a cuddly itsy-bitsy little dumpling! Yes, he is!"

Loghain looked at Morrigan, and they rolled their eyes in unison.

And then there was Maude, of course, up on the quarter-deck, sword whirling from one hand to the other in hypnotic silver arcs as she exercised herself back into fighting trim. She had recovered from the stresses and terrors of childbirth with alarming speed. Of course, that was the Grey Warden constitution, amplified by the researches of the brilliant Avernus. She had devised a most curious and becoming leather cuirass, which could be unfastened at the front of either shoulder, enabling her to nurse the baby whilst still in armor.

"Dragonbone simply isn't practical for a nursing mother," she declared.

_Probably not, _Loghain agreed privately, _though only Maude need be concerned with it._

She had also devised a sling for carrying the baby, well-padded to soften contact with his mother's armor, for Maude said that she wanted to meet their new protégés on the Isle of Mourne.

"I think it's an awfully interesting experiment," she said. "Let's see if freed Circle mages can survive on their own—but let's give them the wherewithal for a reasonable chance."

So there were a few chickens and sheep and goats. There was better cooking and sewing equipment. There were heavy cloaks and a proper box of carpentry tools.

Maude had amused herself with collecting books on practical subjects for their little mage colony.

"Mages are highly literate," she pointed out. "They are accustomed to learning things by reading. So I've collected every 'how-to" book I could find. If they have animals, they need to know how to feed them and care for them. They need to know how to gather eggs and how to milk goats and sheep, and how to make cheese, and how to gather wool and card it and spin it and weave it! Life is complicated!"

"I have never seen you spin wool," Loghain pointed out.

"That because I've been fighting for my life instead," she said with scornful hauteur. "Of course I know how to spin and weave! My mother taught me all those things so I'd know if servants were doing them right. And embroidery and cooking, too. " Seeing his skeptical look, she pulled out a hank of wool and a drop spindle from their supplies for Mourne, and within a few minutes, a neat thread was forming.

"See? If I can juggle, play the lute, and pick pockets, I can spin. I've always been good with my hands."

And then she insisted on taking a turn at the wheel of the ship. Loghain sat down with the charts, and worked on learning to make sense of them. Charts were like maps, but not identical to them. Mistakes about coastlines were unforgiving things. He had always been good at orienting himself by sun and stars, and that skill translated well to navigation at sea. He was familiar with the concept of the lodestone, too, As long as he knew up from down on land, he felt he would be basically all right. Navigation, however, was a more painstaking matter. It was actually quite interesting.

They reached the Isle of Mourne on the twenty-eighth day of Drakonis. A faint mist of green was emerging along the coastlines they passed, and Mourne was as green as any.

The population—all seven of them—no, eight with the baby—had seen the ship and its banner, and had trooped down to the shore to greet them.

"Be _discreet,_" Anders muttered to his friends. Fergus had insisted on coming with them, curious about "those poor people."

They were careful enough not to walk about with anything that would look to the casual eye like a magical staff, though many of them used stout walking sticks to help them up and down the hilly terrain.

Maude wanted to see the baby and show her own off, so there was much silly cooing; but it seemed to ease the underlying tension.

"Let's have a look at this castle of yours," she said eagerly, enjoying even this small adventure.

A careful inspection, and they were able to put together notes about what was needed to repair the tower to the extent that people could actually live there without the roof caving in on them. Most of the crystals from the old lighthouse were still in place, though some were chipped and cracked.

While Fergus and Loghain did their measuring and planning and estimating, Maude took the others with her to the old Chantry, with her how-to books and her spinning wheel and churn and garden seeds. Loghain was not sure how that visit went, but Maude seemed pleased.

"They loved getting new books. Mages love books, and quite right too. Of course, Darrow_ told_ them how to raise sheep, which was useful supplemental information. I told them we'd get the tower repaired for them, so they could live there. If they had visitors, people might give them trouble about living in the Chantry, though I think it was very practical of them."

"We need to be getting on, Maude. Leave them to it. The goats certainly seem to be taking well to the island."

Of course goats had no trouble with the terrain, and complacently munched any thorny and unpromising vegetation in sight. They could be left almost to fend for themselves. The sheep would need the more sheltered meadows of the island's interior.

"I can't leave yet," Maude protested. "I still have to show Reet how to turn the heel of a sock. They've sort of figured out knitting, but completely backwards, so I have to fix that. Civilization needs socks."

They stayed overnight, in the end, sheltered by the fairly sound ground floor of the tiny castle. Anders and Morrigan, however, stayed with the mages at the Chantry.

"No doubt discussing super-secret mage lore," Maude whispered to Loghain, smiling at the thought. "I imagine Anders will tell them about wands; and they'll beg Morrigan to tell them about shape-shifting. Somehow I don't think that's something that can be taught overnight."

* * *

The arrival of the _Wild Wyvern_ in Denerim Harbor was quite the event. Crowds gathered to see the notables coming down the gangplank from the sleek, strangely rigged vessel. The fluttering Grey Warden ensign had led some to expect visitors from foreign parts, but instead the onlookers were rewarded by the sight of Teyrn Cousland and his sister the Regent of Gwaren, both in magnificent dress. Best of all, there was the Dragonslayer and Hero and Ferelden, in the black—though some said _purple—_ armor, made from the very hide of the defeated Archdemon. Behind them came a plain and placid nursemaid carrying a very small infant with very large, bright eyes. Following her was an elven lady's maid with an uncertain but hopeful expression and an armful of linen nappies. Three big mabaris trotted along, ready to protect their pack.

There were soldiers of Highever, and soldiers of Gwaren, and quite a few Grey Wardens, and a dozen Warden recruits from Gwaren and the nearby bannorns. The cheering went on for some time, while transportation was arranged.

"I'm going to Highever House," Fergus said, embracing Maude. "No doubt I've heaps of correspondence to attend to, but I'll see you tomorrow. Take care of my nephew."

"I probably will," Maude agreed.

They were loaded like baggage into the coaches, and they set off in their various directions. Maude insisted on taking the baby and held him up so the crowds could see him through the windows. The dogs milled about their feet, grinning through the windows, too.

"I take it you like Gareth," Loghain observed dryly.

"Yes, thank you very much," Maude replied, full of good cheer. "I like little Gareth heaps and heaps. Especially when he makes such adorably funny faces. Are you tired of Denerim so soon, Little Teyrn? I'm afraid we're in for quite the stay." She set the baby on her silken lap and lightly touched the tiny lower lip, changing her voice to its squeakiest register.

"_Help me, Mummy! They're making me stay in icky Denerim!"_

Mairead frowned. Clerys looked a little more anxious, if that were possible. Loghain growled and reached for his son, settling him gingerly in his own arms. "Don't do that! Leave him his dignity, at least!"

"He's eighteen days old, Loghain," Maude protested. "He doesn't know about dignity yet! He's still my sweet little popover, and so he shall be even after he learns to scowl like you!"

The Wardens' Compound was in perfect order, and well prepared against the arrival of its commander and his retinue. The housekeeper and maids giggled and cooed and sighed over the baby, but at length withdrew. Loghain and Maude were given the peace and comparative privacy of their own quarters, and Maude could order the baby and his nursemaids settled next door. No one was in the room, since Mistress Woolsey was ensconced at the Peak, with her records and her accounts and her nagging. There was plenty of room for the Wardens, and a surprisingly large pile of letters on the desk in the study, along with some parcels and crates.

Most of those parcels and crates were directed to His Grace Gareth MacTir, Teyrn of Gwaren. Word of his birth had got out, even to places that had not been sent Maude's formal announcements. They had received gifts from Gareth's own vassals while they were at the Keep there; but the Teyrn of Gwaren was worth cultivating, and there would be presents from all sorts of people.

"What's that?" Maude wondered, trailing in after him. "Ooo! It's got the seal of Redcliffe. I sent little Rowan a silver cup and spoon. They were very nice. I wonder if Eamon sent them right back to me for Gareth. But no…" She laughed. "An ivory and silver teething ring and religious amulet in one. Gareth can learn his Chant early. How gruesome." She poked through another gift. "This is nice. A complete set of _Sister Caprice's Primers for the Young!_ I learned to read with my own set. Completely demolished them, I'm afraid... These are bound in red calfskin with silver corners. Very sturdy and very grand. Who sent these? Oh…Arl Wulffe and Arlessa Angharad. Very thoughtful. Angharad is all right. I'm sure she and Wulffe are very happy with their own little Derek. I wonder if we'll see her here in Denerim…"

Loghain sorted through the letters, letting Maude enjoy her baby-plunder until Clerys came in to inform her that Gareth thought it was tea-time.

"Don't open that until I come back!" Maude instructed Loghain, waving her hand distractedly at a squat parcel. "It's from Alistair!"

"Why?" grunted Loghain. "Will it explode?"

She came back with Gareth shortly, and curled up in a big chair with her gown undone, letting their little boy have a good feed.

"You may open it now," she allowed graciously. "It's not the official gift, I believe. Anora and Alistair will give us that together. This is something else. Let's see!"

Loghain got up rather grumpily and removed the canvas wrappings.

"Oh!" Maude burst out. "How adorable!"

It was, rather. It was a very small, low rocking horse, meant for a young toddler, whose feet would remain safely on the floor while galloping on his fearsome steed. It was superbly carved and brilliantly painted and had real leather reins and a padded saddle.

"I didn't know horses could be _green,"_ Loghain snarked.

"Don't be like that. Only bits of it are green, and it's enchanting. He went to some trouble to have that made."

"He gave a few orders."

"All right, but he did give them. And you know that Gareth will really and truly love this someday."

Loghain grunted again. Gareth probably would. It was yet another virtue to chalk up to his son-in-law's rather meager tally: Chantry Boy had good ideas about gifts for children. That reminded him— it had been some time since he had seen Rhoswyn. He quite looked forward to holding his granddaughter again.

It seemed like Their Majesties were eager to see them, too. They were invited to a private dinner, and the servant told them that "the young Teyrn" was invited as well.

"It won't cost Their Majesties much to feed _him,"_ Loghain sneered.

* * *

Princess Rhoswyn Theirin was a very pretty little girl. She certainly was worth dressing up, which was a good thing, since Anora had absolutely drenched her in embroidered silk and lace. She was cuddled on the Royal Nurse's lap, looking about her with some interest.

Loghain paused to admire her as they entered the Family Dining Room. She was able to sit up now, her little straight back achingly endearing. She had more hair too, than when last he saw her. It was a fluff of white gold, fine and soft as hackled flax. Her enormous blue eyes opened wide at the sight of him. At least he was no longer wearing armor, and thus was not quite the terror of small children he had been earlier in the day. The big blue eyes slipped over to Maude, who was wearing her most engaging smile and a brilliantly scarlet gown.

"Father." Anora looked very well in rich royal blue, and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "Maude. You seem quite recovered. And so this is Gareth."

Maude held the little mite out for inspection, enormously pleased at the child she had made. "We all here and all wonderfully well, Anora."

"Let me see!" Alistair said, coming forward. To Loghain's irritation, he seemed to be in the process of growing a beard. It made him look faintly like a scruffy Teagan Guerrin, only without the great beak of a nose. The King stared at the baby, shaking his head. "It's so easy to forget how tiny they are when they're new. Whoa!" He backed away, a little wide-eyed. "He frowns just like you, Loghain!"

"Do you think so?" asked Anora, looking a little more closely. "He seems much like any other child to me. He may not keep the dark hair, after all. Is the nurse handy?"

The Royal Nurse was seated in a shadowed corner near the cradles, eyes modestly cast down. Loghain thought her a very pretty woman, and hoped that she knew how to hold her tongue. Loghain took the little princess from her, and enjoyed the sensation of baby-warmth. Rhoswyn was very like Anora at that age.

"Clerys is just behind us, with presents for all," Maude laughed. "I've got the nursemaids prepared for my absence. It all takes planning, since I'm suckling Gareth for the next month."

"Really?" asked Anora, without much interest. "To each his own, I suppose. How very odd, to have a new brother at this point in my life."

Maude gave Alistair a wink and whispered her thanks for the rocking-horse on a thread of breath. Alistair brightened, and put out his arms.

"Let me hold him a minute."

He seemed quite adept at holding babies, and immediately started making ridiculous faces. Gareth stared at him, rather appalled.

"Come on over here, Gareth," Alistair burbled, "and meet your niece! Isn't that fun? Yes, it is! Rhoswyn, this is Uncle Gareth. Look at his funny little face!"

Anora gazed after her husband, rather resigned. "Alistair is extremely fond of children. _Everybody's_ children. He even had his half-sister's brood to visit on First Day. Five children! At least Lady Goldanna was properly grateful for the gifts."

"I've talked to my brother about the eldest...the one named Robin," Maude said lightly. "If it's all right with you, Alistair, he's willing to take him on as a squire after the Landsmeet. Here, Loghain, let me hold Rhoswyn a minute..."

He passed her on, and was amused that Maude somehow managed to make the little girl giggle almost instantly. Alistair was still making faces, so Maude repeated, "Alistair? Robin? Squire?"

"What?" Alistair asked, distracted from babyland. "Right. Fine. That's nice of Fergus. I think it'll do Robin good to leave the nest and see the world. He's a good boy. The tutor's smoothed off some of the rough edges."

"Yes," Anora agreed acidly. "He no longer picks his nose in our presence. It is such a blessing."

Clerys was peeking around the corner, arms full, rabbity little face terrified. Loghain gestured brusquely at her to come forward.

The gathering devolved into a lavish gift exchange. Gareth received a magnificent little chest of carved silkwood, mounted with gold fittings. In it were silver napkin pins and a small silver comb.

"And when he grows up," Alistair said cheerfully, "he can keep his razor in it!"

"Unless he follows the King's fashion," Maude laughed.

Alistair smirked and rubbed his scraggly stubble, vanity blooming like a great odoriferous rose. "Yes, well..."

Loghain briefly thought he would puke. He took Gareth back from Alistair, both men careful to avoid touching each other.

The baby's bright eyes squinted up at him, and the pink mouth granted him a crooked little smile. Loghain's heart clenched, and he held his son a little closer.

"And look what we have for you!" cried Maude "It's been such a busy time since last we met..."

"Yes," Anora murmured, glancing meaningfully at Loghain. "We have a great deal to talk about."

They certainly did, but first they enjoyed the gifts. Maude had found a gorgeous little necklace for Rhoswyn in Kirkwall: real coral beads from the distant Boeric Ocean. They were strung on unbreakable spider silk and fastened with a silverite clasp, so there was no danger of the baby ripping them off and swallowing them.

"Such a beautiful color," Anora approved. "A charmingly exotic gift."

"Well," Maude smirked, "It just so happens that I have another coral necklace, but for you, and so rather larger..."

So the gifts went down very well, and Alistair loved the clockwork monstrosity that Maude had commissioned the dwarves to make for him.

Gareth fussed a little, ready for a nap, and was given to Clerys to take back to the Compound. The Royal Nurse smiled on him kindly, tucking in a stray blanket corner. She, too, was dismissed; and gathered up her charge, carrying Rhoswyn away to the glories of her nursery.

And then, dinner was served.

One had to eat very carefully at Anora's table. She liked to surprise one in the middle of a swallow, to gauge one's reactions. Loghain knew her tricks, and was careful never to take large bites.

Maude, of course, handled it all with her usual aplomb. Nothing was said about the obnoxious letters that had greeted the announcement of her pregnancy. There are some words that even the Warden-Commander of Ferelden cannot say to the King and Queen, unless he is prepared to draw his sword to back them up.

But there was a great deal they could talk about. Maude gave a brief synopsis of her adventures in Kirkwall, with just the right seasoning of concern about the encroaching Qunari.

"There's certain to be a blow-up eventually," she said, voice rich with conviction. "It's clearly an aggressive move, as they have refused all offers of a ship to take them back to Qunari lands. The Viscount hasn't a clue what to do, and he was mad to let them into the city to begin with. A camp outside the walls would have been dangerous enough. Now, of course, they're well positioned to sack the city when the Arishok decides that's just what is needed to save the Kirkwallers from themselves. I met him. He's so disgusted by our filthy, disorganized ways that he's ready to explode."

Anora considered this. "At this point, I can't see any Ferelden lord doing as Viscount Dumar did. If the Qunari come, we will at least know not to let an armed force within our gates." She added, a little too blandly, "I have heard that both Fergus and Delilah have been strengthening their coastal fortifications. Something about the Wardens lending them money..."

"Maude!" Alistair said, eager for gossip. "Did you meet Bann Nathaniel Howe's fiancée when you were in Kirkwall?"

Anora made a face, her probing disrupted. Loghain kept his smile turned inward. Maude seized gleefully at the change of subject.

"Babette de Launcet? No, but I met her parents at one of the Viscount's dinners. The girls were off visiting relatives. I know of them by reputation, though," she added, with a naughty smile. "Is she here yet?"

"We met," Anora said coolly. "The Howes presented her to me. I do hope she will not find living in Ferelden too _terrible_ a trial. Bann Nathaniel fetched her from Kirkwall himself. Perhaps she is missing her family. That would somewhat excuse her."

Loghain, thinking of every Orlesian noblewoman he had ever met, could picture the scene all too well. Maude asked, "Her mother isn't with her? Nobody traveled with her to Ferelden to see her married? That wasn't very kind of them."

"No one," Anora said. "Only her personal servants and a great deal of luggage."

"She's not bad looking," Alistair said, happily munching almonds, "though her accent could etch glass."

Loghain involuntarily snorted a laugh, and then remembered Arlessa Isolde. The boy had no reason to like a female Orlesian voice.

Alistair was rattling on about her. "Really, she sort of looks like a Howe already, with her dark hair. But Bann Nathaniel's made a good bargain, taking her on," he added. "The whole dowry goes to him once they're married— all but her personal clothes and jewels. A thousand sovereigns!"

"Really?" Maude said, playing with the exquisitely tender lamb on her plate. "That's wonderful for Nathaniel, but not so good for her, certainly. It sounds," she lowered her voice a little, "like a family paying to get rid of a black sheep by sending her out of the country. It's really odd that neither of her parents came "

Anora cleared her throat. "That's as may be." She rang an irritating little bell by her plate for the next course.

_Bloody stupid affectation_, thought Loghain. _Can't she shout for a servant like everybody else?_

They had other things to talk over, of course: Loghain could tell them that the Deep Roads under Amaranthine were largely cleared out, and the dwarves were rebuilding Kal'Hirol. Much of the Deep Roads under Gwaren looked safe as well, but those were only a fraction of the whole. The Grey Wardens continued to recruit.

"I sent Anders to the Circle Tower to get us some more mages. Apparently Greagoir is no longer in command. They've installed an Orlesian fellow..." Loghain's lips curled in distaste.

"—Ser Berengar de Malsange," Maude supplied, with quite a perfect Orlesian accent.

"Yes,_ him,"_ Loghain sneered. "He gave the Wardens a hard time, and in the end Anders was only able to get a single mage, and that one who had been imprisoned in the dungeons for over a year. Apparently all the mages are locked in cells when they are not on some scheduled activity. The fellow had the gall to tell Anders not to show his face there again, since nobody would need Wardens for a few hundred years!"

Maude started talking, very smoothly and convincingly, before Alistair could bring up reasons why he thought mages _should_ be locked up. "This would explain his impudence in refusing the Queen of Ferelden a Healer! He's made the Circle quite a prison, since he's angry that so many mages did their duty by fighting the Blight! The Templars seem to really dislike allowing the mages to look good. It's sad that there was no way to reward the mages for their loyal service, but for some Orlesian to lock up them up like criminals...well, I think that's entirely too cruel."

Loghain muttered, "It's not the first time the Orlesians have infiltrated by taking over the Circle."

Maude glanced at him sympathetically, and added, "—And it's outrageous that he would refuse a courtesy to the Crown!"

Anora agreed, at least with that last. "It was very badly done of them, certainly. If only we knew what has become of Wynne! Did you hear anything when you were in the Free Marches, Maude?"

"I know no more than you: that the meeting in Cumberland was broken up and all the mages taken into custody. I presume that Wynne was arrested along with all the others. She might have been kept at the Circle in Cumberland, or sent home to Ferelden, for all I know. I tried to make inquiries when I was in Kirkwall, since they have a Circle there, but they wouldn't tell me a thing. Short of breaking in and searching the place, there was no way to know if Wynne was imprisoned there or not. A wicked waste of a brilliant Healer. I hope that nobody's been rounding up the Healers already posted to Ferelden noble houses."

"So many disappeared during the Blight," Anora shook her head. "Some apparently fled in fear of the darkspawn, and others joined the army. I do understand that it's been hard for the Chantry to sort it all out, but it's not helpful to deprive people of the benefits of Healing. I've had some conversations with the Grand Cleric about it. She told me to be patient while they are reorganizing, and that we'll be back to the status quo pre- Blight in due course."

No one at the table believed that, of course, and there was a brief silence, broken only when Alistair said, "Lady Habren is due next month. She's upset about not having a mage Healer. Teagan says she's all right, but she's staying in Rainesfere. I don't think she likes it, but Teagan doesn't think she's fit to travel overland in a wagon."

"Probably not," Anora said briskly. "Father, Warden Anders is with you, I trust?"

"Of course. Would you like him to have a look at Rhoswyn?"

"That would be very nice. Such a pleasant man."

The talk drifted on to other topics, including the progress of the university and the remarkable group of scholars who had gathered there. Anora and Maude talked about it in sweet, high-minded fashion.

Loghain let the intellectual discussion wash over him, reminding himself to say nothing at all about the money given them by the First Warden, nor about the letter from the Warden claiming to be Alistair's mother. He did not wish to bring up the apparent resurrection of Flemeth, nor would he discuss the interesting intelligence he had been gathering from the other Wardens. Above all, no mention was made of their theft of the formula for Qunari black powder.

Instead, when the women were done with their infernal chatter about the National Library, he brought up the trip to Highever, and added more detail about the birth of Fergus and Cauthrien's son, which interested Anora. It had been a banner year for children among the nobility.

Alistair grinned. "Arlessa Angharad and her little boy Derek have arrived in Denerim with Arl Wulffe. He's over the moon, as you can imagine. I think Derek's going to be a ginger."

"I got her letter, and sent them a present. I'm very happy for them," said Maude. She poked at a pink and quivering pudding set before her. "Oh, is that a blancmange? What fun! I haven't had any in ages. Ours in Highever were always white. Anyway, red hair runs in the Wulffe family, so it's all good."

Loghain asked, "Has anyone seen little Rowan Guerrin yet?"

Alistair sighed, and his handsome face was suddenly miserable.

"No, Father," Anora told him. "I was godmother, but by proxy. Arl Eamon left the child in Redcliffe, cared for by trusted nurses. He's afraid to risk her on the roads, and I suppose I see his point. It's a long, hard journey from Redcliffe to Denerim."

Another brief silence, as everyone at the table recalled just how hard and long that particular journey could be.

Alistair gathered his spirits enough to say to Maude, "I didn't expect to see _you,_ but then you showed up in your fancy new ship. It must be fun," he added, a little wistfully.

"It i_s_ fun," Maude said, eyes holding Alistair's, while her voice vibrated in that damnably convincing way. "You _should_ have a ship. A Royal ship. You could go up and down the coasts and inspect defenses and visit people. And sometimes sail just for the fun of it."

Loghain grimaced and shrugged. If Chantry Boy wished to end up like Maric, Loghain would certainly not spend two years looking for _him._ The King had done his duty, and Ferelden had an heir. Alistair caught Loghain's dour expression, and his eyes gleamed with unholy joy.

"On the ship...were you…" he said hopefully. "…_seasick?"_

"No, I was not _seasick!_' Loghain shot back rather testily. "It is… interesting, and has its uses, but it is not a diversion I would seek out for its own sake."

Maude winked at Alistair. "Fergus is having a new ship built. He'll be glad to tell you about it. He wants to be able to check on things in the islands. We've been sailing amongst them and saw some pretty amazing sights. Fergus thinks there should be a comprehensive expedition to assess their population, condition, and defenses come this summer."

"And I completely agree with him," Loghain supported her. "Those islands off Amaranthine could be key to our coastal defenses, as well as an excellent place to settle loyal people. We found some refugees living on Mourne, for that matter. Very decent people. They're quite able and willing to man the old lighthouse there, if the Crown will rebuild the tower."

Anora's face tightened at the thought of spending money. "Mourne? That has an old ruined castle on it, I believe..."

"They _call_ it a castle," Maude said confidently, "but it's just a bare tower. It wouldn't take much to put it in order. Fergus gave the refugees some sheep and some supplies. After all, if there are decent people settled there, then it's less likely that the place will be used by pirates for a base."

"How was Cauthrien?" Anora asked Loghain, changing the subject.

"Very well and happy. Anders saw another child safely into the world, and Cauthrien bore it all, one can only say, like a soldier. Caradoc is a fine boy—"

Maude laughed. "—with a healthy pair of lungs!"

"I guess it was strange," Alistair ventured, his face concerned, "to see Highever again after so long."

Maude gave him a quick, melancholy look: the sort that roused the sympathies of soft-headed fools like Chantry Boy. She said, "So much has changed. I hardly recognized the town, with the Alienage gone. Fergus and Cauthrien have worked so hard. It's amazing what they've accomplished in such a short time. They were talking about how much they would like a Royal Visit this summer. It would mean a lot to them— and to all the people in the North."

Anora's face smoothed. Apparently she found the idea agreeable. "Perhaps it would be...appropriate. After Summersday, of course."

"And we hope you will visit the Peak, as well," Loghain said instantly. "Vigil's Keep, Amaranthine, Breaker's Cove, Soldier's Peak, Highever, West Hill, Waking Sea bannorn: you should see them all. And they should see _you_...and Rhoswyn."

"Wear your crowns," Maude suggested, enjoying her blancmange. "People like crowns."

* * *

"Your Graces! My lords, ladies, and gentlemen! On this first day of Eluviesta, the thirty-third year of the Dragon Age, the three hundred and ninety-first from the founding of the kingdom, by command of Their Majesties, King Alistair and Queen Anora, I declare this Landsmeet in session!"

Anora and Alistair were wearing their crowns today, and looked quite nice in them. Everyone looked rather nice. Most nobles dressed to impress on the very first day of the Landsmeet. After that, greed and disappointment, rich food and strong liquor, too much whispering and too much shouting...all of them took a certain toll. By the end of the Landsmeet fine clothes were sweaty and rank, and tempers short.

Maude was already exasperated by her body's refusal to fit perfectly into the new gown she wanted to wear. Clerys had quickly altered it, ruthlessly ripping open seams and loosening laces. Once the work was done, Loghain thought Maude looked quite beautiful.

"I look strange," she disagreed in a whisper. "I stick out in strange places. I'll have to exercise more."

Loghain smirked. "I like the way you stick out. It's very—"

He broke off, Alistair was well into his speech, talking about the Defense of Their Beloved Ferelden. Loghain felt his ears prick up like a mabari's. Chantry Boy was practically quoting him verbatim.

"... the islands of the Amaranthine Archipelago, and a comprehensive expedition to assess their population, condition, and defenses come this summer. These islands could be the key to our coastal defenses, as well as an excellent site to settle our surplus population. A loyal and industrious citizenry is the best bar to seizure of the islands by pirates and marauders..."

Fergus, surprised and pleased, caught Loghain's eye and gave him a grin and a thumbs up. Loghain nodded back, rather sourly.

Obviously Anora had agreed with what he had said over dinner. Why couldn't she just say so? But noooooooo... She must always resort to intrigue and subterfuge, and make everything more complicated than it needed to be. Right now Anora was conscientiously gazing on Alistair in admiring rapture. Loghain found it rather repulsive. Still, it was a good show of royal solidarity.

"...part of a Royal Progress after Summersday that will inspect the northern reaches of our land..."

Maude nudged him, looked as pleased as her brother. No, she was pleased, but distracted by something. She was edging away, looking over at a group of banns who had some papers in their hands.

"...behooves us to be wary of foreign agents and adventurers, who look ever for weaknesses, and seek to create disunity and dissension..."

Loghain looked, too. Bann Perrin and Bann Tolliver were studying the papers, their eyes glittering with odd, rather gleeful expressions; as if they had been caught with filthy pictures, or found out something that frightened and excited them at the same time.

Eamon and Teagan were standing on the other side of the room—on the King's side, actually. Loghain expected to see Byland with them, but Maude was whispering in her cousin's ear, making him smile. Good move. Gwaren had as much or more to offer South Reach as Redcliffe did.

A little further on Loghain saw the Howes: the brother and sister in rich but sober garments. With them was a dark-haired young woman, whose gaudy clothing made her resemble an expensive tart.

Both kinds.

"...and the need to make use of all weapons and powers available to us, just as we did to achieve our victory over the Blight..."

The Grand Cleric was frowning. Next to her was a beefy man with burning black eyes and a well-oiled beard. By the Maker! That was that Orlesian bastard, come to spy on the Landsmeet! The Templar's eyes met his own. Loghain gave him stare for stare, until the Orlesian sneered and looked away.

The speech concluded to cheers and applause. Loghain added his own approval to everyone else's, while he swept the room with his gaze. Wait. He looked again. Eamon was very angry, but he seemed to be angry about something other than the King's Speech. Teagan appeared tense and unhappy, and he was crumpling something in his hand. The shape of the paper was exactly the same as those Loghain had seen Perrin and Tolliver holding. Some sort of broadsheet?

No time to investigate, Fergus Cousland was up next, and then Loghain and Maude would have to speak about northern defenses. That would pull in Delilah and Nathaniel. Where the hell was Bann Frandarel? He had never responded to Loghain's letters about improving the old fortress of West Hill. Alfstanna was here, fortunately, and she would know what was going on in the far west.

Most people liked Fergus quite well, and they applauded his announcement about the heir to Highever very kindly. He talked about the number of refugees retrieved from Kirkwall and about the state of Highever defenses and the volume of trade coming through the port. He seconded the King's suggestions about the Amaranthine Archipelago, regretting that so many had fled abroad rather than to the security of islands that were Fereldan soil.

Maude supported him, of course. She took her place in the speaker's gallery, eliciting another round of applause for the birth of the new Teyrn of Gwaren. Loghain permitted himself a smile. People were looking at him, and really, he was very pleased about it all.

Then his ruthless young wife made use of all her charm and persuasion to tell the Landsmeet of the Qunari threat to Kirkwall and what it might portend for Ferelden. There were no Qunari supporters in the Landsmeet, and so no built-in resistance to her words. The only person who disliked the criticism of Viscount Dumar was Mademoiselle de Lancet, who made faces at first, and then fell under Maude's spell like everyone else.

For that matter, the Chantry was solidly behind Maude— on this issue anyway. The Grand Cleric raised the point that the continued Qunari presence in Kirkwall might well be considered a breach of the Llomeryn Accord, which had put an end to the Exalted March against the Qunari. Maude smiled brilliantly at the the old priest

"I thank Your Grace for your wise words. The good friend of my dear mother, as usual, has penetrated to the heart of the matter. If the Qunari do indeed intend to make war on Thedas once more, what cleverer way to begin than with ambiguity— presenting themselves as hapless, harmless, shipwrecked mariners? They take care not to breach the Accord outright. Instead, they insist that it is all an accident... that they have no hostile intent; and thus slowly accustom their victims to their presence, convincing them that it is normal and innocuous— the new and perfectly acceptable order of things. In this way, an entire cohort of Qunari, under the command of an Arishok, has insinuated its way into the heart of a great city. Tensions continue to rise. Inevitably, there will be an incident...something that the Qunari can claim as a pretext, and then, as they sack the city of Kirkwall, they will declare that they are simply defending themselves!"

The spectators, ensorcelled, murmured agreement amongst themselves. Maude pressed on relentlessly.

"Yes, Kirkwall is on the other side of the Waking Sea, but remember that Kirkwall is closer to Highever than Highever is to Amaranthine! Closer to the fortress of West Hill than West Hill is to Highever! If the Qunari menace is creeping toward us, let us look to the islands of the Waking Sea and to the Amaranthine Archipelago! Let us secure these islands, and guard against the possibility that while we feast here in Denerim, reveling in friendship and unity, a foreign power may be gathering a power in secret, based on those very islands, which it can unleash against us!"

There was quite a hush. Even those smirking young noblemen were listening.

"Forewarned as we are, there is much we can do. My brother the Teyrn has already told you of some of the plans afoot. Just as in the Blight, our united strength is the key to victory. And just as in the Blight. we have a weapon that has proved its worth. Magic." She raised her voice over the wondering murmurs, quoting the Chant of Light.

_"'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.' _ Taking this text as her strategy, Her Perfection, the Divine Hortensia III, gave command for the mages of Thedas to go to war against the Qunari. Thus is was that the third Exalted March, the one under _her_ leadership, did in Storm 7:84 achieve the deliverance of Thedas. Qunari cannons were no match for our well-trained mages!"

Teagan called out, "Don't the Qunari have mages of their own?"

"They do, Bann Teagan!" Maude acknowledged. "I have seen them: collared, chained, mouths sewn shut, horns sawed off. They are leashed like pets and housed like beasts. How different—how very different from the enlightened treatment our own mages are afforded: protected, educated, trained, and made thoroughly aware how great a burden of responsibility they must shoulder. We saw in the Blight what a mighty weapon for good they were." A dramatic pause._ "'Magic exists to serve man.'_ Indeed it does, and what nobler service can it render than the defense of country and Chantry?"

She descended, to great applause. Loghain was in awe of the scale of her deceit. She had now set the groundwork for levering at least a few mages out of the Templars' clutches. Ser Berengar was frowning a little, shaking his head as if to clear it. The Grand Cleric, on the other hand, was smiling in maternal pride. Loghain snorted. Maude had the old woman hoodwinked, for the moment anyway, though he was not sure the mages would be sent to war if the invader was not the Qunari, but Orlais.

"Look here, Loghain!" Arl Wulffe called out, when the applause died down. "Where do the Grey Wardens stand in all this? I thought they weren't supposed to involve themselves in politics, or make war against anything but the darkspawn!"

Loghain was ready for that one. "The Qunari have refused to sign any treaties with the Grey Wardens. They do not recognize our mission, the independence of the order, or the Right of Conscription. The Qunaris attacked Warden posts during the first Qunari invasion, and they did not assist in fighting against the recent Blight." He raised his hand, to forestall contradiction. "One wandering Qunari fought in the Battle of Denerim on his own initiative, and he now appears to have been an agent sent to scout out Ferelden and see the Blight for himself. I know of no others. The large numbers of Qunari mercenaries previously in Ferelden made a hasty departure as the darkspawn advanced."

"'_ If you wish for peace, prepare for war,'"_ quoted Leonas Bryland. "It does seem that we need to be on the alert." There were sage nods of agreement.

A council was appointed to study the matter further and push ahead with the coastal improvements already discussed: Fergus, Loghain, Maude, and Banns Nathaniel and Alfstanna. Fergus mentioned setting up a watchtower and lighthouse on the Isle of Mourne, as an additional protection for the city of Denerim. He told of finding a small group of refugees living there, whom he thought would do the job very well with a minimum of expense. He put forward their leader, Petronilla Flyte, for the office of Lighthousekeeper of Mourne. With royal assent, money was set aside for the repair of Castle Mourne and for regular supplies for the lighthousekeeper and her staff.

Loghain allowed no change of expression as her heard Petra's new name introduced before the great of Ferelden. He would just as soon have done this privately, but Fergus wanted to make an example of these refugees, whom he had taken under his wing. At least if people saw lights in the tower, they would know they were there with the approval of the Crown.

More personal announcements followed: the birth of yet more children...Eamon's and Wulffe's, and a half-dozen banns' sons and daughters. Weddings were inevitably announced as well. The first to stand forth was Nathaniel Howe.

"Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet! I invite you all to attend my marriage to the noble Mademoiselle de Launcet, It is to be held at the Cathedral in three days' time, and I ask that you wish me joy there and at the feast that will follow, to be held in the Howe mansion."

Maude applauded enthusiastically, wanting to support her old friends. Fergus was far more restrained, but behaved properly. The bride-to-be preened before them all, her shrill, nervous giggle rising to the roof of the Landsmeet Chamber. Loghain hated that giggle. This female might prove even more insufferable than Habren Bryland. He never would have thought it possible.

* * *

They were adjourned until tomorrow. There was pleasant talk here and there, and a number of people rushed off to enjoy a midday meal before the exertions of dressing for tonight's feast. Loghain was quite pleased at how smoothly the first session had gone, and headed back to the Compound. Maude was called over to talk to someone.

"I'll be there presently," she said, waving him on. "Save some bacon rolls for me!"

A mob crowded the table in the Wardens' Hall, already eating everything in sight. Only Anders had bothered to slip into the Landsmeet, and he was quite pleased with Maude's initial attempt to chip away at Ser Berengar's tyranny.

"Horrible man," Loghain agreed, intent on his meal. Time passed, and Maude failed to make an appearance. Loghain presumed that she had gone to feed Gareth. Dutifully, he had the housekeeper rescue a plate of her favorite treats from the ravening maws of the other Wardens.

He thought of doing a bit of work in the study, and had just sat down to it, when Maude stormed in, Gareth at her breast, waving a wad of papers with her free hand. She threw them onto the desk in front of him.

"This is what the lads were looking at," Maude said, unusually serious. "I thought the Landsmeet was going well, right up to the time I saw these. Teagan and Eamon have seen them, too. We have a few hours before the feast. I sent word to Anora that we've got to talk to them."

Loghain unfolded the cheap paper, saw the woodcut of Alistair, read the first few lines, and froze. "Where did you get this?"

"Captain Kylon and I are old friends. He passed them on to me at the end of the Landsmeet. He says the Market District was papered with these things this morning. Someone was busy before dawn. There are some at the Docks and along Gate Street, too. They must not have made it across the river before the sun was up. I told Kylon to have his men take them all down and bring them here."

Loghain swallowed, and then read the crude broadsheet again.

* * *

**THE FIRST TRUMPET BLAST AGAINST THE MONSTROUS RULE OF THE USURPER!**

_MUST FERELDEN ENDURE A **FRAUD** AND **BASTARD** ON THE THRONE?_

**Can "King" Alistair prove he was born in Ferelden? He claims to be the son of our beloved King Maric and a Redcliffe serving maid, but Chantry rolls at Redcliffe show no record of his birth! Challenge the pretender, and demand proof of his Ferelden blood!**

_Fact: King Maric never acknowledged any bastard in the course of his rule!_

_Fact: There is no written evidence that "King" Alistair is the son of Maric!  
_

_Fact: "King" Alistair did indeed live in Redcliffe, but was stableboy to Arl Eamon!_

**Did the Arl of Redcliffe, now Chancellor of the Realm, make use for his own ends of a Nameless Bastard who bore a slight resemblance to our beloved King Maric?**

**FERELDEN PATRIOTS! RISE UP AGAINST THIS INSULT TO OUR NATION!**

* * *

"It's clever," Maude observed, "Quite clever, if the whole purpose is to make trouble. I totally wish I had done something like this back in the days when I was going round and round with you."

Loghain, in his blood-shot mind's eye, saw the entire nation of Ferelden exploding in a red blaze of civil war. Again. "This has to be stopped. Right now."

"I_ know_. I told Kylon to track down the print shop that put these out. Type, paper stock—look here, somebody had to do that woodcut. The printer community is small. Somebody's going to recognize this work. We have to show them to Alistair, right now. Probably a lot of people didn't see them this morning, but by tonight everybody will have. Too bad the perpetrator already checked out the Redcliffe Chantry. We might have to find some other place for Alistair to have been born. Weisshaupt won't do, obviously."**  
**

* * *

_Thank you, my reviewers: karinfan123, Jenna53, graydevilforever, Evil Elven Ice Queen, MsBarrows, Phygmalion, Zute, tgcgoddess, Judy, Josie Lange, TsuDohNimh, Kira Kyuu, Enaid Aderyn, riverdaleswhiteflash, JackOfBladesX, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Ellyanah, mille libri, Shakespira, agissa, cloud1004, Tyanilth, and PestoMonkey,  
_

_I realized that the term "hackling" might not be at all familiar, esp since DAO canon contains nothing about spinning, weaving, sewing, or any other process involved in the production of clothing. In preparing flax for spinning, flax is pulled through various sized hackling combs to remove the straw and split and polish the fibers. It's one of the world-building things that really has bugged me lately. In a traditional, medieval society, people are busy with textile production all the time. However, nobody in Thedas owns a spinning wheel or even a drop spindle. Nobody has a loom or a sewing box. There are lots of other processes involved, too, with all sorts of necessary equipment. Most women and girls should be spinning whenever they're not doing anything else. Even women from the elite classes would be engaged in this to some extent. _

_For example, when Hawke and Bethany/Carver are finally free of their indenture and have some silver, the first thing Leandra should be doing is to get some decent fabric and make herself a gown suitable for a visit to the Viscount. She could be making sheets and shirts for her children. Simply saying that she was raised noble is insufficient. She was married to Malcolm Hawke for about twenty years, and would undoubtedly have done heaps of sewing (and probably spinning and weaving as well, as we also never see a textile factory, which of course would hardly fit in with the world of England 1200 AD anyway).  
_


	43. Killer Cats of Ferelden

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 43: Killer Cats of Ferelden  
**

While the Landsmeet recessed for a midday meal, there was much talk about the scurrilous broadsheet attacking Alistair's birth. Behind locked doors, a small cabal considered what to do about it: the King, the Queen, the brothers Guerrin, and of course, Loghain and Maude.

"Such a solemn occasion," Maude said lightly, looking around the table at the faces. "When it could really be an opportunity..."

Loghain had his own ideas on what to do about the crisis, and they mostly involved cutting important bits off impudent people; but if Maude could think of a way to turn this to their advantage, he was all for it.

Not all the faces could be precisely described as solemn. Anora was angry: lips pressing together whitely until they almost vanished altogether. Alistair was red with helpless embarrassment. Eamon was pasty and pudding-faced, clearly completely caught off his guard. Teagan—yes, Teagan was solemn. Vexed, too. He, of course, did not know the real secret of Alistair's birth. But as Maude had pointed out to Loghain earlier, the pamphleteers did not know, either, or it would have been the chief matter of their attack.

"Is it true?" Anora asked. "Alistair was never officially named and registered in Redcliffe?"

Alistair was thinking this over. "So if I was never really named, maybe I could pick out a new one. Something more impressive. _'Rex Stupendous,' _maybe?' He noticed that Anora's face had taken on the aspect of a very large iceberg about to sink him into unplumbed depths. "Sorry. What difference does it make, anyway?"

"I think that's quite a good point," agreed Teagan. "What could the printers hope to gain by attacking Alistair? They named no better rival. It's all a fuss about nothing."

Eamon pretended to be calm, but one eye twitched uncontrollably. Loghain instantly knew that Eamon knew more than he had said about the birth. The arl admitted, "I always presumed that Maric had seen to it. When Alistair was entrusted to me, he was only an infant, but not a newborn. The mother died at the birthing, and there was no family, other than the daughter who left shortly after."

It all sounded very dodgy and unpleasant to Loghain, and doubtless even more so to Maude, who in the past had expressed compassion for Goldanna. Alistair's purported half-sister had been all of nine at the time, and was driven off with a coin and a harsh word. But Maude did not pursue that. She kept her counsel and her countenance, and only smiled.

"Well!" she said smoothly, "There you are! King Maric was traveling about then, looking after the kingdom. He picked up the baby and perhaps had him with him for a short while before he decided that he couldn't manage it." She gazed dreamily up at the ceiling. "I expect he was in Lothering when he decided to have Arl Eamon foster Alistair. Yes. Lothering. Such buffoonery on the part of the printer—or his employer. Of course, the Lothering records were destroyed in the Blight. Such a shame."

Teagan was a bit confused. "Why are you sure it was Lothering? It could have been anywhere!"

"Lothering is a good guess," Loghain agreed, dancing with his wife on the creaky tree limb of fantasy. "Maric was in the south at that time. He stopped at Lothering for awhile, but Ceorlic missed him. It was early spring, you see. Ceorlic only visited his bannorn in high summer. I suppose South Reach is possible. What are we to do? Check every Chantry in Ferelden for the record? That would only convince the Landsmeet that there is some dark secret here. Lothering will do, but even better is a shrug."

Alistair was slouching in his chair, looking miserable and harassed. Loghain grasped that he hated any discussion of his youth. Though he had never taxed Eamon with it in Loghain's hearing, he had let enough slip to make clear that he felt he had been badly treated, and that he thought what had been done to Goldanna was heartless. Which is was, whether or not the woman's mother had been Alistair's. Loghain paused. That there had been a Redcliffe maid, dead in childbirth, had clearly been a fact. Who was the father of _her_ child? Maude had talked to Goldanna. Loghain considered asking his wife about it when they had a private moment.

Anora was scowling. Loghain sat up, startled. He had never realized that Anora could sometimes look like him. It would be quite horrible if her face stuck that way.

"A shrug," she mused, considering his words. "Yes. Maric had the child in his care briefly and saw to it. Who can be certain where? Lothering, very likely. The more important question, of course, is why was this attack made? Who profits from it?"

Teagan considered the matter. "It's clearly an attempt to create doubt and dissension, thereby destabilizing the country as a whole. I can't think of any particular Ferelden who has much to gain by that."

Maude smirked. "Therefore it's probably financed by a foreign power. Now," she said, smirking faintly. "What foreign power has the most to gain by harming Ferelden?"

"Oh, come on, Maude," Alistair reproved her. "I can see that Loghain's been a bad influence on you. Orlais? Why now?"

"Why not?" Loghain said sharply, his hackles raised by anything Chantry Boy said to dismiss the eternal Orlesian menace. "It's not the only incident to suggest they're renewing hostilities."

"Secret hostilities, though," Maude temporized, very persuasively. "Covert hostilities. We now have this Orlesian Knight-Commander in charge of the Circle. He's the one who forbade the Queen a mage when she was expecting."

"—And," Loghain sneered. "he informed our recent Grey Warden recruiting party that they need not return until the next Blight."

That thoroughly distracted the Arl of Redcliffe. Eamon rubbed his beard, suddenly wretched. "I have not had a letter from Connor since Ser Berengar assumed command. Did your people see my son when they visited?"

"Alas, no," Maude cooed, her face the very image of innocent regret. "Anders told us that the Knight-Commander's policy is to lock the mages in cells unless they are undertaking duties approved by him. It's such a harsh regime. So ungrateful, too, after all the mages did to defend Ferelden in the recent Blight."

"Locked in cells?" Teagan said, appalled. "Like criminals? That cannot be right!"

"And honestly," Maude said, dark eyes wide and guileless. "That's all we know, other than the testimony of our newest mage Warden. That young man was in solitary confinement for over a year, and by the end was not being fed regularly. It seems that our Orlesian Knight-Commander has a certain taste for cruelty. And really, who is to say him nay? He has absolute power over the mages, from the eldest to the youngest, most defenseless apprentices!"

Eamon's mottled jowls darkened. Loghain watched them in interest. They were quivering in rage.

"I have spoken to the Grand Cleric," Anora said. "It seems to be all of a piece with everything else going on within the Chantry at the moment. The Divine feels mages have been allowed too much freedom and that is time for a policy of harsher repression. We know that the College of Mages in Cumberland was arrested and imprisoned in various Circles around Thedas. My own personal Healer has disappeared and no one will reveal her whereabouts—or if she is even alive!" Anora did not bother to conceal her anger. "The Grand Cleric says that Ser Berengar was sent from Val Royeaux with very specific instructions—"

"No doubt!" Loghain snorted. "The Divine cannot have been pleased at the role of mages in saving Ferelden!"

Anora only nodded, not wanting to lose the thread of her thoughts. "At any rate, the Grand Cleric seems a bit intimidated by the Knight-Commander. He has the ear of the Divine. Perhaps you should speak to her, Maude. You have a gift for persuasion, and the Grand Cleric is fond of you."

"I shall," Maude agreed. "I shall have a lovely tea visit with her, and see what can be done. In fact, I shall lay the groundwork at the feast tonight. In the meantime, we should call in the high nobles and tell them about King Maric and Lothering and what nonsense this affair is. And that it's probably just the Orlesians making trouble. Captain Kylon is looking for the printer. He's quite clever. We'll know more when he tracks him down. In fact, we may be able to work with it."

Fergus and the rest of the arls were hastily summoned to join them. All of them had seen the broadsheet. They discovered the the King and Queen were relatively unconcerned by it, and the story was soon told. Maric had had Alistair with him for some time after his birth. Presumably he had been presented in the Chantry at that time, but Eamon had no idea where. If it was Lothering, then obtaining proof would be impossible. There was general agreement that this was a trouble-making ploy by some foreign power, and probably the one due west of Ferelden.

There was a knock at the door. "Captain Kylon, Your Majesties," the seneschal announced.

Looking as uncomfortable as only a man called before every important person in Ferelden could look, Kylon entered the War Room. Loghain was irritated to see how the man perked up at the sight of Maude. She actually _winked_ at him.

Anora gave the man leave to speak, and an interesting tale he told them.

"Whoever did the work isn't one of our local craftsmen. The guildmaster said that some new people came to town last month with their own press, and rented a shop off the Market. The press was reported to the guild, and they sent some of their boys around to talk to the newcomers. Three men by the name of Van Pelgrem, so the guildsmen thought they were Marchers. They had a bit of an accent. When things were explained to them, they paid the guild fees right off without any haggling. The guildmaster says now he should have smelled a rat."

"Are they gone?" Alistair asked.

Kylon nodded. "I'm afraid so, Your Majesty. They might be hiding elsewhere, but the shop and the living quarters above were vacated. We found some of the print stock they used, so we're sure they were the ones. None of the woodcarvers was approached to make the picture, so we think one of the three strangers must have done that work, too. Quite a few of the sheets were spread around. I've had my men going house to house to collect them, but people don't want to give them up. Some places they've been tacked up on the wall, and we can see the marks."

Eamon was looking alarmed. "I had no idea there was such opposition brewing."

"Begging your pardon, Lord Chancellor," Kylon objected. "It's not like that. Folks _like_ having a picture of the King. Most of them can't read the words, anyway. Some of them tore the writing bits off..."

"I knew it!" Maude burst out happily. "Remember, Loghain, how people got when you put up those 'Wanted Dead or Alive" posters of me? You said people used them to decorate their houses! And here they have a chance to have a nice little picture of our own King Alistair! Of course they want to keep it. Rather than causing bad feeling by searching the houses and taking the pictures, why not offer a trade?"

Alistair narrowed his eyes, thinking, "I'm not sure I quite understand. Trade what for the pictures?"

"The official royal portrait!" Maude enthused. "All three of you! Everyone loves a picture of a pretty baby. Yes!" She thumped the table "The King, Queen, and little Princess Rhoswyn. You should have an official portrait anyway, but this woodcut will be something cheap to produce and distribute. Post a few around town, and then give a bundle of them to the City Guard. If people want their own copy, they'll have to turn in the tatty old broadsheet."

"An excellent suggestion!" Anora concurred, clearly pleased with Maude. "Continue to collect the pictures, but make a record of who had them, and promise a superior replacement. Send the printer guild's best craftsman to me at once. I want this ready as soon as possible."

Leonas Bryland nodded. "That's all very well, but the Guard needs to keep looking for those troublemakers."

Fergus ran his hand over the back of his head, thinking it over. "They might have already left the city. Get a description of them and send it out around the country. Van Pelgrem? I wonder if that's their real name."

* * *

It was agreed that the impudent pamphlet would not be allowed to spoil the feast. Anora had planned it almost as minutely as her wedding. There had to be at least a dozen musicians—a scandalous expense, in Loghain's opinion. Some of them were obviously foreigners. Loghain peered at them suspiciously. It would be all too easy to hide weapons in the bellies of lutes and viols. It might even be possible to shoot poisoned darts from the taut strings of the tall harps...

"Don't glare at the harpers, Loghain!" Maude rebuked him cheerfully, catching his arm and settling her hand comfortably in the crook of it. "They're doing their best. This is all very gala, isn't it?"

Gold was everywhere: purple and gold. Hangings of those colors brightened the stone walls. Benches were strewn with cushions in the same color scheme. Anora had chosen gold and purple as the Crown's colors, and Alistair was colorblind enough or besotted enough to go along with her. Serving the guests were little pages in royal livery. Since funds did not stretch to dressing them in cloth of gold, the pages were in yellow and purple. A very bright yellow.

"Ow!" Maude complained, waving a hand in front of her eyes. "That's hideous! Is your daughter trying to blind us? I need a drink!" She gave a faint shriek, and pointed toward the middle of the long hall.

"Holy Maker! Loghain! That's a fountain.. of wine! No! There's two of them! Let's go get some right now!"

Loghain felt his blood began to boil. Did Anora have no restraint at all? Sure enough, there were a pair of white marble fountains spurting wine: one red, one white. More little pages in excruciating yellow and spendthrift purple were handing silver cups to the guest. Loghain was appalled. It would be a miracle if every one of those cups did not walk out the door with the guests. Perhaps he should stand at the exit and shake them all by the heels before letting them go home.

Maude was dragging him along, wanting to see the ridiculous fountains. Loghain had seen them before, back in Maric's day. They were white marble, rimmed with gold. Maric had bought them from some Antivan fraud when Loghain was away from Denerim. They had been used once, and then—ruthlessly shouting down Maric's protests— Loghain had banished them to the deepest storerooms, hoping that they would never again see the light of day. Now some fool had unearthed them and polished them up. The wine was pumped up from the cellars below by servants with treadles. Poor tired sods. The fountains were certainly popular, though. With any luck, some of the guests would drown in wine before they could pilfer the goblets.

"You know, I hope," he told Maude loudly, "how easy it would be for an Orlesian agent to use these devices to poison this entire Landsmeet and all its associated campfollowers."

"They're so pretty!"

Loghain felt it was once again time to put his foot down. "We're not drinking from some ludicrous fountain that the servants downstairs, at the very least, have been spitting in since the feast started."

"I suppose you're right," Maude sighed, unconsciously echoing Maric, "but they're very pretty all the same. And I still need a drink to sooth my poor scorched eyes."

"Fair enough." Loghain shouted at a passing page. "You there! Fetch us some unopened bottles of Antivan wine!"

Maude added, "The ten-year-old Treviso red!"

"Unopened," Loghain repeated, giving the boy his most menacing stare. _"Unopened."_

The boy fled, the hems of his gaudy surcoat flapping behind him.

"And hurry up!" Loghain shouted after him. "We know where you live!"

"But the fountains _are_ very decorative," Maude said, admiring. "At least the red wine fountain is. The white wine is so golden it looks like pee, squirting like that."

A raucous burst of laughter behind them. Arl Wulffe and his wife had overheard her. Maude had the grace to blush, but held her ground.

"Well…it _does."_

At said fountain, out of earshot, Bann Loren was filling his elaborate silver cup. He took a sip, and rolled his eyes to heaven in delight. The Wulffes roared again. The Arl pounded the wall, thumping it like a drum.

Maude was laughing too, infectiously. Loghain granted her a reluctant smile, and then choked when Loren urged his pretty young wife to drink from his cup.

In between sobs of laughter, Arlessa Angharad took Maude's hands. "I heard you brought you little boy to Denerim! I'd love to see him! Could you come to our townhouse tomorrow? Olwen and Nesta adore babies. You should see them with Derek!"

There was a bit of babytalk, and the two ladies agreed on a morning visit. Wulffe seemed fine with all this, just as he was fine with his wife having two little girls from a prior marriage. Certainly, there was no harm in building alliances, even in the cradle. With a smile and a parting word, Maude dragged Loghain along, determined to mingle and make him mingle, too. He hated _mingling. _He glared at the festive noble riffraff, his formidable Mac Tir elbows at the ready, daring them to try to mingle with _him._

A shriek of laughter rang above the music, almost bringing it to a halt. Heads turned.

It was that fiancée of Nathaniel Howe's, decked out in enough finery to sink a war galley… or to pay for one. Arlessa Delilah was with her, forcing a very slight smile.

"Poor thing," whispered Maude. "Delilah would like to pretend she doesn't know her, and is only standing next to this complete stranger by some bizarre happenstance."

Nathaniel looked cold sober, with emphasis on the cold. Mademoiselle de Launcet might be worth a thousand sovereigns, but Loghain suspected that her future husband would earn every penny of them.

He was not the only one who found her irritating. Bann Alfstanna said as much to her friend Bann Reginalda.

"…cut me dead, and then _giggled_ at my hair! Doesn't the silly woman understand she has to make friends, and that this pretense of superiority isn't going to help?"

Reginalda laughed nastily. "Or the pretense of being Orlesian elite, either! 'Comte' de Launcet, my old boot! The family is just a cadet branch of lesser nobility that fled to Kirkwall when the head of the house fell from grace in Emperor Florian's time. They use the title, but my Archie heard they really haven't the right. Of course, 'anything goes' in Kirkwall, as they say…"

The Amaranthine group had found Fergus, and from the bows and curtseys, it appeared that they were presenting Nathaniel's betrothed to their overlord. Fergus, always strained in the presence of the Howes, was trying manfully to be civil to the young lady. He gave them an inaudible word and a curt bow, and then found some pretext to walk away.

They were getting closer. Loghain resigned himself to having to meet the girl, too. He felt some regard for the young Howes, and Nathaniel looked like he could use some support. Maude was slipping through the crowd, dragging him along. _Mingling._

The Howes were looking their way. The de Launcet chit was actually _smiling_ at Maude, responding to the charming, debonair smile that was undoubtedly on Maude's rosy lips. She even had the effrontery to look approvingly at Maude's gown. Then her eyes traveled up, up past Maude until they met his own. Her mouth fell open…

….and she giggled. Delilah blushed, and young Howe's face turned to stone.

Loghain looked at the girl more closely—at the wild, dilated eyes, and the aimlessly fluttering hands—and then grasped that she was terrified. He had seen fear too many times not to know it. She had probably been terrified since she came to Ferelden. No wonder she was making an ass of herself. Fear manifested itself in many ways, and none so irritating as hysterical laughter. Loghain grudgingly acknowledged that it was probably better than her pissing herself.

Delilah was already making the introductions. "…her Grace the Regent of Gwaren; the Warden-Commander of Ferelden: may I present to you Mademoiselle Barbarella de Launcet, daughter of the Comte de Launcet of Kirkwall."

Maude spoke right away; trying to prevent the girl from saying something stupid. "I had the pleasure of meeting your parents when I was last in Kirkwall. I hope they are well."

Another intolerable, reflexive giggle. "Oh, yes! They are well, and they spoke of Your Grace. So charming, so well-dressed. They had no idea that a Fereldan lady could be so _civilized!"_ The girl's eyes widened, as she grasped what she had just said; and from her painted mouth issued another panicked shriek of laughter.

Maude graciously ignored the faux pas, and patted the girl's trembling hand. "You will find that rumors of Fereldan barbarism are greatly exaggerated."

"Yes!" the girl seized on that frantically. "Like the delightful man I just met…the noble Teyrn of Highever! He looks so imposing, but he is just a big cuddly bear!"

Delilah winced. Nathaniel stared at her, frighteningly expressionless.

"Yes!" Maude agreed cheerfully. "That exactly describes my lord brother in a good mood! A big cuddly bear! In a bad mood...well, maybe a big _angry_ bear. Good mood is safer."

Babette de Launcet's eyes rolled white. "Your…brother…"

Howe snarled, "We _told_ you! Try _listening."_

Maude was quick: very quick. She was so quick that almost none of the projectile vomit suddenly issuing from the Marcher girl's mouth touched her shimmering gown. Delilah was not so fortunate.

Nor were Loghain's boots. They were soft sueded leather, and the stink would never, never leave them now. Babette de Launcet bent double at the waist, still retching.

"My lord!" shrilled the page across the room. "Your wine!"

Half of the room turned at the words.

"Mo' win'?" One noble gentlemen said muzzily, slurping directly from a fountain. "Oh, _good."_

"Loghain!" Maude commanded, shoving the de Launcet girl at him. "Hold her up! Boy! Toss me the bottles!"

A free-for-all broke out, hands reaching, slurred voices shouting. The boy tossed a bottle high. It flew end-over-end, and Maude caught it with a juggler's aplomb. Three more followed. Maude tossed the first two to Nathaniel Howe, who, to do him credit, had clever hands.

"Let us retreat in good order to the ladies' salon." Maude proposed. "With our rightful booty and our prisoner." Loghain snarled, lugging the unwelcome, vomit-smelling, still-heaving girl along with him.

The maidservants on duty in the salon squeaked at the appearance of two men. The Marcher girl was settled into a chair. She looked appalling. A hasty wash removed the filth from her mouth and chin, but also removed her cosmetics, which left her face in two different colors. She shut her eyes, and moaned softly. Black eye paint coursed dark tracks down her cheeks. The bodice of her dress was likely a total loss.

Delilah was silent, gazing at her future sister-in-law like a particularly nasty sort of bedbug.

"Emergency visit," Maude said, waving breezily at the servants. "The Arlessa and her friend have suffered wardrobe malfunctions. Oh. There's some puke on me, too. Pity." With casual ease, she broke the top off the bottle and took a drink. "Treviso. It's Heaven. Loghain, let's go to Antiva. We could have a vineyard."

Nathaniel's eyes met Loghain's. He was clearly finding all this rather surreal.

The maids sponged and dabbed industriously. Delilah's gown was dark, fortunately, and the wet spots would not show much. Loghain would have stopped one of the girls from fussing over his boots, but he had no desire to breath de Launcet stink all night.

Maude's smile now was something of a grimace. She waved the servants out of the room. "Go have a nice drink somewhere, please." She turned to Loghain and Nathaniel. "Thanks ever so, gentlemen, for escorting us here. Delilah and I will see to our fallen comrade. You are welcome to the rest of the wine."

"I'll be close by," Nathaniel muttered to his sister.

They shut the door behind them, glaring forbiddingly at the crowd of ladies come to see what was happening. A general retreat followed, accompanied by eager whispering.

Nathaniel blew out a breath and said abruptly. "I'm marrying her in two days."

Loghain was a plainspoken man of war. It was a struggle to come up with something tactful to say. "In time she might not find us so terrifying."

"You think she's frightened?" Nathaniel mulled that over. "Possibly."

"Maude thinks her mother should have come with her. She felt it wasn't kind to send the girl by herself."

"The mother's an idiot. and drunk on poppy juice half the time," Nathaniel said flatly. "I'd be even more ashamed of her than I am of her daughter. I can't say I look forward to the kind of Howes that Babette's likely to spawn. "

"She'll birth some fine watchtowers and war engines," Loghain said. "Those will prove her worth."

Howe laughed mirthlessly. "And she'll rebuild the South Gate of Amaranthine, too. Yes, Babette has her value. Perhaps she can be trained, in time, not to puke on the rest of the world. That, or I'll lock her away at Vigil's Keep, if I must." He leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. "My father and mother hated each other, you know. Now I understand how a father can feel nothing for a son."

That was too dark and painful for a response. They drank in silence. The door cracked open, and Maude peered at him gravely. Out of sight, a woman was sobbing. The Marcher girl, Loghain guessed.

"Could you ask someone to fetch Anders?" she murmured. "Pretty quickly?" The door shut. Loghain summoned a servant and told them to be quick.

Anders had been lingering on the fringes of the party, dressed in peacock blue and green. He came soon, a question in his eyes. Loghain jerked his head at the closed door. Anders slipped in, and silence fell once more.

Half-drunken and utterly drunken people passed to and fro, not noticing the two tall men in the shadow of heavy pillars. If the Orlesians attacked tonight, most of Ferelden's nobility would not be able to see straight enough to put up a fight.

"—I always knew the boy was a fraud!" hissed Bann Cagear's wife. "So now the nobility of Ferelden bends its knee to a stableboy!"

"—Loghain doesn't care," whispered her friend. "At least the stableboy was fit to get a child on Anora, which is more than Cailan could manage. If his granddaughter rules in Ferelden, what difference does the father make to a peasant like Loghain?"

Nathaniel raised his brows, almost amused.

Loghain knew that woman, too. It was Bann Stronar's wife Myrella. The bann himself seemed loyal enough, but here was his wife, speaking treason publicly. He stepped out of the shadows and gave her a long, silent look. Bann Cagear's wife squeaked in fright. Lady Myrella briefly tried to stare Loghain down, and then sniffed and stalked away, very pale.

"Is he, in fact, a fraud?" asked Nathaniel. "Not that it actually matters, at this point."

"It _does _matter to me," Loghain replied. "And he is _not _a fraud. Not that there is proof now, other than old men's sworn words and the truth of Alistair's face. That he was probably not presented in a Chantry does in fact mean very little to a peasant. The poor and the country folk are not so punctilious about Chantry rituals, especially when there is no coin to pay the priest."

"True enough," Nathaniel said easily. "And what other king can we have? The Couslands did not challenge him, and who else would have greater right?"

"It's nothing but the Orlesians making trouble," Loghain told him. "They've done it before, and now they're at it again. It seems a ham-handed attempt to foment unrest."

They stood waiting, mostly invisible, gleaning more gossip. Nathaniel did not even flinch when a group of young girls expressed their contempt for his betrothed. And they were not the only ones. A variety of ladies approached, wanting to access the retiring room and demanding to know why it was so guarded.

_"—Who does she think she is?"_

_"—And her gown is hideous, by the way!"_

As time passed, and he and Nathaniel drained a bottle of Treviso apiece, Loghain grew angrier. This is not where he needed to be, dancing attendance on a spoiled, drunken Orlesian shrew. He and Maude needed not just to hear what was being said, but to spread their own story. They needed to be calming concerns and sneering at foreign conspirators. Viciously, he hoped Howe did lock the girl away. He never wanted to see her again. Had Maude already sent her a wedding present? Any moment now, the King and Queen would be announced, and they would have to take their places at the feast. Maude should not be made late for that by this absurd affair.

At length, Maude emerged, full of secrets. She said to Nathaniel, "I think you should go in now." Howe frowned at her, trying to guess what was going on. Maude was not forthcoming, and the young man gave her another quick frown, and then joined his sister and his betrothed. A moment later, they could hear something heavy being slid in front of the door to keep out intruders. Maude gestured at Loghain and they departed, walking together along a recessed hallway. She looked about warily, no doubt searching for eavesdroppers.

Loghain spoke softly. "Is the girl ill?"

"Yes." Maude lifted her chin to speak directly into his ear. "She thought she was pregnant."

He pulled her into a corner and they talked, quickly and urgently, so softly that not even the mice in the walls might hear them.

Anders had examined Nathaniel's betrothed, and found that she was _not_ pregnant, but afflicted with some thoroughly unpleasant ailments that somewhat aped pregnancy. Nathaniel would not have been the father, of course: he was too honorable for that. Her parents had thought her pregnant, too. With the family already shamed by producing a magical child—the son, now in the Kirkwall Circle—there was no thought of finding a competent mage healer. So first Babette had been doused with moon tea, again and again, hoping to abort the inconvenience. It had made her even sicker. That failing, the father had chosen exile for her, and offered her to the first barbarian Ferelden he thought of, and a whacking great dowry besides, to pay for taking their ruined daughter and her shameful bundle off his hands.

"Did they think Fereldans can't count to nine?" Loghain snarled.

"They thought we wouldn't care," Maude told him. "We're savages, remember? In the Free Marches, they still repeat that vile story about Queen Moira and her dog. I think they were surprised to see me wearing shoes."

"Who did she think was the father? Couldn't she have married him?"

Maude rolled her eyes, and told the sickening story with a bland expression that would attract no notice.

"She had no idea. Babette's been something of wild child. Really. She thought it might be an Orlesian noble she met at a party. She was incredibly drunk, so she's not sure. Someone named Baron Arlange. He's already married, so there was no hope there. And she wasn't sure. It could also have been some of the Baron's friends, or a man-whore she used to visit at a brothel there in Kirkwall. An elf, actually. Whoever she's been with gave her some pretty nasty keepsakes. Anders thinks he can sort her out, but it will take time. I daresay Nathaniel won't be consummating the marriage anytime soon, if he marries her at all."

"Oh, he'll marry her, all right," Loghain said, thinking of watchtowers and war engines, and the shattered South Gate of Amaranthine.

"Oh, well," Maude sighed. "I need a drink after listening to Babette's lurid confessions. They're almost enough to put me off lovemaking for life. Their Majesties haven't arrived yet, have they?"

"No. Anora's probably heaping on more gold."

"Very likely," Maude agreed. "Well, we still have a bottle left. Will you do the honors, or shall I?"

"I'll do it," he grunted, cracking the neck of the bottle smartly against a stone corner. A bit of wine splashed to the wall and floor, the red stains like blood from a wound.

* * *

No one had the nerve to raise the issue of the pamphlets in the Landsmeet sessions proper. Instead, the banns approached the high nobles in ones and two; in small groups and privately, feeling them out for their opinions. The united opinion of the great was that it was rubbish: rabble-rousing from the east. And even had there been the least doubt among them, none of them—not Cousland, not Bryland, not Wulffe, not Howe—none of them had the least to gain by unseating Alistair from the throne. Only Fergus Cousland had a better, more legal claim to it, and Fergus Cousland did not desire the crown.

Loghain was approached himself. The southern banns had taken to Maude, but had not known her long. Loghain did not like the idea of talking to her vassals behind her back, but he could not put off the banns. He hoped that if she heard she would kill him quickly, rather than slowly.

Within two days, just as Loghain had predicted, Nathaniel Howe wed Barbarella de Launcet at Denerim Cathedral. The bride, luckily, had a fresh gown unspoiled by her periodic nausea, and some fairly impressive jewelry. Much to Loghain's relief, the bride did not vomit in public, and there was not a giggle to be heard. As far as he could tell, in the course of the rather subdued dinner afterwards at the old Howe mansion, the new Lady Babette Howe was no longer permitted wine.

There were presents, of course: some of them rather nice. However, not all of Fereldan's nobility was in attendance. The Dragon's Peak bannorn contingent was conspicuous by its absence, but then, no one really expected Bann Sighard to get over Rendon Howe's kidnapping and torture of his son. Others had their grievances. The King and Queen attended the wedding, and made a brief appearance at the dinner afterwards. Maude had persuaded Fergus to go with her and Loghain, mostly for Delilah's sake, but he would not dance, and his present—an inlaid chess board with jet and ivory pieces— was not particularly generous.

"I_ thought_ of giving them a set of silver spoons," he said rather sarcastically to Maude, after two cups of wine, "but they already stole all of ours three years ago."

"Shh! I gave them a book," Maude said virtuously. "Books are always very proper. I gave them a lovely illustrated Chant of Light dating from the Divine Age. Completely unabridged. It has all the Dissonant Verses. Quite old and very valuable."

"You stole that," Loghain pointed out, reality swimming in and out of focus. "You stole that in Haven. I remember."

"Loot is _perfectly_ acceptable as a gift," Maude countered. "It's something I earned on my very own. It has sentimental value, instead of being something boring I bought in the market."

"My present has no sentimental value whatever," Fergus grunted. "Lucky for them."

"Shhh!" Maude hushed him again.

It was, all in all, very much a sober and joyless business transaction, only in very expensive clothing and with very good wine. Perhaps too much wine. Still, everyone was careful not to get into a fight, and even more carefully left rather early. Maude wanted to get back to Gareth, and Loghain felt queasy at the idea of the usual bedding festivities. They somehow seemed to have been forgotten in all the confusion. He was profoundly grateful for that, and so, he suspected was Nathaniel Howe.

The dogs were happy to see them, of course, and Gareth demanded a late-night snack. After Clerys removed Maude's jewels and put them all carefully away, she was dismissed, so they could express their real opinions without fear of eavesdroppers.

"Who'd have imagined it?" Maude remarked, nuzzling the baby. "Nathaniel's wedding was heaps worse than ours."

Loghain slipped off his shirt, and splashed his face and chest with pleasantly cool water. "Personally, I liked our wedding. Especially the closing ceremonies."

"You mean looting Brother Genetivi's house? That _was_ fun. And the sex later, too, of course. After we were alone and I wasn't being stuck full of pins, it was all quite nice. Poor Nathaniel has to sleep all night in the same bed as that dreadful poxy Babette. He probably won't be able to close his eyes! At least tomorrow he can get up and run his fingers through her thousand sovereigns. He'll feel better after that."

"The wretched girl was fairly subdued. Delilah's work? She's certainly toughened up as Arlessa. A good thing, too."

"Delilah's work...and mine. I threatened Babette, of course," Maude explained, quite unashamed. "I told her that if she made Nathaniel and Delilah look bad, I would hunt her all the way to the Void and I'd chop her into mincemeat, bake her in a pie, and send it home to her cretinous parents. Did you notice that she wasn't drunk at all tonight?"

"I take it Anders' treatments have lessened her tendency to puke on innocent bystanders."

"That too. I'm glad she didn't puke on the Grand Cleric. Her Grace takes a dim view of puke on her sacramental robes, as well she should."

"Delilah needs to marry," Loghain said. "That's all there is to it."

"She doesn't _want_ to, you know," Maude replied. "She told me that once Nathaniel has an heir she wanted to step down as Arlessa and take vows. I think that would be an awful shame. We've got to find her a man."

Loghain ran a jaundiced eye over the currently available crop of unattached Ferelden nobles. It was a depressing prospect, but then, it always had been. "Easier said than done."

"I'll bet that if I could talk my friend Hawke into coming back to Ferelden, he'd do for her very nicely. Very attractive, very clever. Damned fine swordsman. Noble Kirkwall blood on the mother's side. Bit of a rascal, but what noble over twenty isn't?"

"I think we've seen quite enough of Marcher nobility." Loghain shuddered, picturing projectile vomit.

"He's Ferelden born. His mother is the one who wanted to go back to Kirkwall. I don't know how he can stick the place, personally. You _like_ Bethany, remember?"

"I like Bethany," he conceded. "And Ambrose is not entirely the arse I thought he was at first."

"Alistair and Anora looked nice tonight. I think Anora looks much better in shades of purple that in all that gold. Alistair's beard is beginning to look a little more creditable, though it's too bad it's so gingery."

Loghain sneered. "It looks likes _fungus."_

"Now, now. It's a beard on a king, therefore a kingly beard."

He pulled off his boots and flexed his feet. Topaz demanded some attention, and he rubbed her ears, thoughts of Alistair making him recall something he had meant to ask Maude.

"That "sister" of his...Lady Goldanna. You've spoken to her about the birth..."

"Of course."

"So there really was a Redcliffe serving maid and there really was another bastard?"

"Yes. And I know what you're getting at. Goldanna believes the father of the dead child to have been the King. That's what everybody—including her mother—told her. I see no reason to disbelieve her. The unfortunate serving maid had the child, and Goldanna was told that both mother and child died in the birth. Then she was shooed away so unkindly. I've thought about it, too. Why would they bother to lie to an insignificant peasant child? My own guess is that they did not. The woman at Redcliffe and her child _did_ die. About that time," she lowered her voice to the softest whisper, "Warden Fiona showed up with her baby and left him in Maric's care. You must have been gone at the time. Maric, for reasons we shall never grasp, kept the child under wraps somehow, and got him to Redcliffe. He and Eamon gave out that the child was the child everyone "thought" had died. Thus Eamon knows that the Redcliffe serving maid story is untrue. Does he know anything else? Hard to say. He might even know about the elf-mage-Orlesian Warden thing, but he has no more reason to blab about it than we do. And it seems more than likely that any of the old-time Redcliffe servants who knew the truth were killed during the zombie apocalypse there."

"That means," Loghain said, the thought souring in his mouth, "that Maric had yet _another_ woman...this Redcliffe servant. It must have been shortly after he was rescued from the Circle. He came back, was reunited with Cailan, and the two of them went off to see the Guerrins. And Maric must have taken up with this servant at Redcliffe Castle." He scowled as he slipped out of his smallclothes. "He _never_ could keep it in his pants!"

"Well," Maude turned to look at him, and smiled fondly. "He _was_ on holiday. And some men look awfully appealing without pants."

"Maker's Breath! How many more bastards are out there?" It was a daunting prospect. He shook his head. Every time he thought he had finally grasped Maric, something like this came up. "Enough of this. I saw you talking with the Grand Cleric after dinner. Any progress on that front?"

This new subject made Maude click her tongue in vexation. She had spent a great deal of the past two days cultivating Her Grace the Grand Cleric, with mixed results.

"It's so exasperating!" She gave the baby a quick kiss. "Not you, gorgeous Gareth. You're practically perfect in every way. But the Grand Cleric, Loghain! I spent a chunk of yesterday with her. We had tea. We chatted. I talked her around about the mages and everything was perfect. Then that bastard Malsange gets at her after I leave, and he muddles her up again! I had to start from the very beginning again last night. I've really had it with him. I've given it some consideration, and I think he's got to go."

"Perhaps you should be working your wiles on the Orlesian himself. I saw him staring at you in the Cathedral."

"Don't be horrid." She rubbed the baby's back until he released a manly burp. Loghain laughed and took him in his arms, letting Maude wash and ready herself for bed.

So she did, with a running commentary about her Templar nemesis.

"He was probably thinking of ways to purge me of sin, mostly using edged weapons. He's one of those tiresome people I come across from time to time who prove insensible to my 'wiles,' as you so charmingly put it. Too stupid and too full of lyrium, probably. And there are limits to the kind of wiles I'm willing to use on him, after all. No. I think he's got to go. Then Her Grace won't be so difficult. At least I've just about got her convinced that looking for the Urn of the Sacred Ashes is hopeless. Here, give me Gareth and get into bed. I'll call Mairead."

He eased gratefully under the covers, smirking a little at Maude's gift for invention. The Grand Cleric had most desperately wanted to know the way to the shrine of the Sacred Ashes. Maude did not want to tell her how to get there, and was spinning mystical tales of spiritual preparation and a gateway that only those who did not want to use the Ashes for personal gain could find.

Maude called for the nursemaid, and the woman came in, yawning sleepily. She took the baby and managed to curtsey good night. Onyx gave Gareth a last sniff, and the dogs sprawled happily by the fire. Maude tossed aside her silken robe, and climbed into bed beside Loghain, her mind still racing.

"The Grand Cleric's not a complete idiot," Maude said, still thinking it over. "Nor is she so hopelessly self-righteous that she's doesn't see that gaining control of the Ashes _would_ benefit her personally." She lay back among the pillows, her eyes closed, lashes long and dark against her cheeks. Loghain brushed his lips along the curve of her jaw, and wrapped her in his arms.

He murmured, "Enough of the Chantry for tonight."

"All right," Maude agreed. "She's not so bad, really; but _he's_ got to go..."

"Enough..."

* * *

The council for the northern defenses met the next morning. Nathaniel Howe was there, too, surprising some of them. A bridegroom might generally be expected to skive off work for at least the morning after his wedding, Nathaniel, however, arrived in good time: bathed and shaved and dressed in his usual sober elegance.

Loghain studiously avoided an appearance of curiosity. They had much real work to do, and Loghain had no wish to know the gruesome secrets of the Howe marriage bed. Maude bustled in a bit late, but presented them with remarkably detailed elevations of her proposed watchtowers. They were cleverly designed to prevent sneak attacks. Nobody, Loghain supposed, knew more than Maude about being sneaky, so there were defenses here countering various kinds of assault that Loghain had never imagined.

"What's this?" Fergus grunted, turning the diagram sideways to figure it out. "That seems an unnecessary expense."

Maude explained it all. "You want the underside of the drawbridge shod in bronze like that. That way, when it's cranked up to seal the entrance, nobody can throw hand axes into it and climb up the heads to the chain's release mechanism."

"Maude, _nobody_ could do that."

"I could. No problem. A solid oak barrier is not safe enough. With this, when the drawbridge is pulled up, you've got a bronze barricade: resistant to axes, swords, and fire. Termites, too. And look at the defenses for the jakes! I'm really proud of them. Nobody will ever be able to climb up _that _chute!"

Bann Alfstanna appeared to be very impressed; but then, she liked Maude. Nathaniel only nodded his agreement. He had a reputation of something of a sneak himself.

Loghain grimaced at the neat little picture of the downward-pointing blades, feeling a little wayward sympathy for the certain-to-be-shredded-as-thin-as-parchment fool who tried to enter where Maude did not want him to be.

"Do you want to try this out with Castle Mourne?" Fergus asked. "There's no moat, but the new door could be sheathed in bronze. I like the chimney flues, too. Not that I've ever tried to climb down one."

"I have," Maude said. "I got the idea in Kirkwall. They have lovely chimneys. You can crawl all around inside the walls in the big townhouses."

"You can get roasted, too," Nathaniel snarked.

"Not me! But whoever messes with these improved chimneys might. Or they'd be stuck, which would be even more dismal, in my opinion. But it's still possible to clean them. Look there."

Then they went back and forth over the precise site for the watchtower to be built on the Blackmarsh Peninsula. The more Loghain looked at these plans, the more he liked them, and the more determined he was that just such a tower would be built in Breaker's Cove.

A knock interrupted their deliberations.

"Beg pardon, Your Graces," the guard said. "But the general session's been called again. Such a to-do about what happened to the Knight-Commander…"

Loghain snorted, already hoping for the worst. _"_Berengar de Malsange?_ What _happened to the Knight-Commander?"

"Dead!" The guard declared. "The Orlesian gentleman was riding along the hills by the sea, like he does every day here in Denerim. Fell off his horse and rolled down all the way to the rocks. When they hauled him out of the surf, his neck was snapped like a twig."

Bann Alfstanna cried, "How horrible! Maker turn his gaze of him!"

Maude was instantly compassionate. "What a terrible tragedy! Poor man! Fell off his horse, you say?"

"That's so, your Grace!" the guard agreed. "It happened like this: he was riding with some of his Templars, and just as they reached the Upper Hills this little ginger cat burst out of the underbrush. It was being chased by a wolf, see, and it squawled like a demon. Suddenly, it jumped up and landed on the head of Knight-Commander's horse with all its claws out. The horse shied and reared, and the Knight-Commander was thrown from the saddle."

"I hope the horse wasn't hurt," Maude said earnestly. "Or the poor little pussycat, either."

"The horse is all right, as far as I know," the guard told them. "Don't know about the cat. It jumped off and doubled back into the woods, with the wolf howling after it. It about froze the knights' blood, they said. Sounded like that wolf was…laughing."

"There's no call to make things worse than they are," Fergus said sternly. "Or repeat the wild ravings of men in shock. A terrible accident, and that's all."

"Certainly," Maude agreed. Her eyes were limpid pools of childlike innocence. Loghain was convinced that she knew all about it. She had been busy this morning, seeing people... giving orders? How long had she been planning this? _A ginger cat…?_ He glanced surreptitiously around the room. No one knew about Anders' feline form... but what about Morrigan's shape-shifting? While Alfstanna wouldn't have a clue, Nathaniel had seen Morrigan as a hawk…and as a wolf...

Howe was frowning, but at the plans, so Loghain breathed easier. The servant looked like he had more to say, but Fergus dismissed him.

"We'll be in the Chamber directly," he said.

"Think of it…" mused Bann Alfstanna. "A mighty man of the Chantry brought to grief by a little ginger cat. The ways of the Maker are a mystery indeed."

They gathered up their papers and left the room. Maude said, "I must offer my condolences to the Grand Cleric at once. I wonder who'll replace the Knight-Commander at the Circle? I hope it's Ser Harrith. I've always got on with him so well…"

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Isabeau of Geenlea, EpitomyofShyness, Kira Kyuu, Zute, Judy, cloud1004, riverdaleswhiteflash, Tsu Doh Nimh, MsBarrows, Josie Lange, Phygmalion, Znime-StarWards-fan-zach, Jyggilag, JackOfBladesX, Costin, Aoi24, mile libri, Angurvddel, Enaid Aderyn, Jenna53, Shakespira, vertigomunchkin, Emily, butterflygrrl, Tyanilth, and Andronicus. _

_While I have not read the new book, Asunder, Josie Lange has told me enough about it that I must regretfully say that Wynne will have no further role in The Keening Blade. I had an interesting story line planned for her, but it appears she is at the Circle in Orlais. As Leliana became a Warden earlier in my plotline, she will not be filling the role she does in Asunder. She will not be joining the Seekers, no matter how devout she is._

_I'm not seriously proposing a Hawke/Delilah ship. Maude's just dreaming. A Kirkwall adventure is coming up._

_Oh, and the thing about climbing up a closed drawbridge on axe heads is done by Kirk Douglas in The Vikings. It's pretty cool. Maude could do that. No problem at all.  
_


	44. A Letter to the First Warden

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 44: A Letter to the First Warden  
**

Morrigan and Anders were absolutely insufferable in the days subsequent to Knight-Commander Berengar's misadventure.

They were well known in Denerim already, and becoming better known yet, as they swaggered and swanned through the shops and streets and markets, spending freely and making no secret of the fact that they were mages.

In the Market District, their favorite diversion was to stroll, arm in arm in front to the Cathedral, waving at the Templars…all of whom they knew by name. The Grand Cleric had expressed her concerns to Maude.

Maude reassured her that the individuals in question were, after all, Grey Wardens, and that all was well. Not one apostate had been caught in Denerim in the course of the Landsmeet, which indicated, did it not, that there were none to be found?

Back in the privacy of the Warden Compound, Maude was thoroughly satisfied with herself. "I think the Landsmeet has gone fairly smoothly, once we got past the nasty broadsheets," she remarked to Loghain. "And this is nice. I'll have it framed, and hang it in the hall of the Compound."

'It' was the printed woodcut of the Royal Family. The Marcher artist Anora kept about had daubed a fairly decent portrait—though the baby, unable sit still, was a fairly generic baby. On Maude's advice, the King and Queen wore their crowns, a proud affirmation of their sovereignty. The work was done with impressive speed. The paint was not even dry when the printer's men used it to create the black-and-white images that were now all over Denerim. A copy had been given to every noble at the Landsmeet and to every foreign ambassador, and was being sent to even town and village in Ferelden, with instructions that it be prominently displayed.

Loghain had not decided what to do with his copy. Perhaps it would be appropriate to hang it in his office at the Peak, but that would mean seeing Chantry Boy on his wall. Not a very pleasing prospect. certainly.

Instead, he paid the painter for a portrait of Anora and Rhoswyn together. The result was quite satisfactory. With her baby on her lap, Anora seemed quite relaxed, and her expression in the portrait was very pleasant, very content. She looked quite lovely. That was the picture he would hang on his wall. The woodcut? Hmmm...

"You can have my copy," Loghain said to Maude, with a show of generosity. "There should be one in the private rooms at Gwaren Keep. The official one can be put up in the rogues' gallery with all the rest."

"'Rogue's gallery' you call it? It's a very nice picture gallery," Maude said. "I hadn't expected it when I arrived. All the teyrns back to the first Vorics, and a heap of Ferelden monarchs. Your portrait is lovely. Though I must say that _some_ of the paintings are so dark now, I can hardly make them out. Still," she nodded. "Fair enough. I'll hang your copy in my private parlor. I'm glad it's been so popular. I reminded Anora to send a copy to the Empress. I'm sure she'll like it."

That made Loghain chuckle. Life was good, other than Maude's insistence that they, too, had to sit for a portrait, a process that Loghain found tedious. But why not make Maude happy? The monarchy had weathered the nasty little attack from individuals still unknown. The foreigners had gone to ground. Their Landsmeet gambit had rather backfired on them.

The Orlesian commander at the Circle was gone, and Maude had persuaded Her Grace the Grand Cleric to transfer Knight-Commander Harrith to the post at Kinloch Hold. Harrith, Maude informed Loghain, was a creature who could be bought for the right amount of lyrium, and...even better...would stay bought. The mages would not be locked away, but would have considerable freedom to work and travel, with Harrith's permits in hand.

There had been other reassignments. Knight-Commander Tavish, who had struck such blows against the Mages' Collective—an organization much admired by Maude—was leaving Denerim for Redcliffe, where he would fit in well with the pious court of Arl Eamon...and where he could do no further harm to the independent mages of Denerim. Maude had met with the remains of the Collective and told them what they could and could not do. She had arranged a situation of comparative safety and independence for them, but with the warning that if they abused it, it could all be revoked with stunning alacrity.

"I'm very proud of my work with my mother's old friend," Maude smirked to Loghain. "She now believes that she herself came to the conclusion that it was better for mage healers to operate under the Chantry auspices than for them to be working in back alleys. This way, quite a bit of credit for the cures redounds to the Chantry, instead of raising unpleasant questions about why the Chantry keeps this option from the people. She's set aside a little place in the Market District for a clinic. There'll be a pair of Templar guards, but I made her see why they should be pleasant, friendly types who won't frighten the children. If the mages handle this right, they'll be able to use the Templars as unpaid help."

In addition, a pair of mages would be posted at Fort Drakon to see to the health needs of the garrison of Denerim. If they did well—and did not incontinently transform into ravening abominations—there might be other postings in the army. Many soldiers had been healed by mages during the Blight and every healed soldier was a voice in favor of mages. There had been little sympathy for the recent repression.

In an irony typical of politics, Maude's most useful ally had been the Arl of Redcliffe, whose reputation for piety was beyond question. He gently urged the Grand Cleric to permit suitable mages to serve— as the Chant of Light commanded. Under enlightened supervision, mages could do so much to heal the country's wounds and serve the Chantry. Perhaps if Arlessa Isolde had lived, he would not have been so outspoken, but she was gone. and Eamon clearly had something in mind. The Grand Cleric trusted Eamon, at any rate, and his words had carried the day.

Maude speculated on his motives. "It could be that he hopes that Harrith will let Connor come home after his Harrowing. I suppose it's not impossible, if some sort of arrangement is worked out in which Connor can serve as a Healer for the town. Perhaps I'm too idealistic. Eamon would probably make him Court Mage at Redcliffe, with duties only to the family. From the way he talks, I can see he's starting to push for having a Healer with him, in case his little girl gets sick. Oh! Did you hear? Teagan was here today. He had to leave, since Habren's near her time. I expect if it's a boy they'll want him to marry Rowan someday. Keep Redcliffe all in the family."

Loghain grunted with disgust, and thought about more agreeable things than the Guerrin family.

On their way back home, they would bring the mages on the Isle of Mourne their good news. Petra would be officially the lighthousekeeper, the tower would be rebuilt, and there would be a stipend and supplies. If the mages could keep their abilities secret for a short time, they had a chance for a fairly normal life. Loghain was curious about whether they could make a go of it, or not. If they did their duty, he wished them well.

And then Fergus was announced.

"Where's Gareth?" he demanded. Looking rather cross and dissatisfied, he threw himself into an ominously creaking chair.

So Gareth was brought in, and given to his uncle, who seemed better for having a baby to hold. He set Gareth down on his lap and played with the tiny hands, smiling absently.

"I can't wait to get home," he said. "I've been gone too long. Cauthrien's written, of course, but it's not the same. I need to be home with her and Caradoc."

"Next year they can come with you to the Landsmeet," Maude comforted him. "I agree, though. I'm ready to go, myself. Alistair sent off to fetch young Robin Pommy back for you. "

"Is the boy at all like Alistair?" wondered Fergus. "Not that I object to fostering the King's nephew, but I hope the boy is something in himself."

Maude and Loghain glanced briefly at each other. Of course the boy was not like Alistair. He was actually no relation to Alistair at all. Nonetheless, in the interest of keeping Chantry Boy and Anora on the throne, they would maintain the fiction that Goldanna was Alistair's sister. Even better, Alistair and Goldanna believed it to be true.

Maude shrugged. "I really couldn't say. I met him briefly during the Blight, and he seemed quick and clever, but until last year he'd had almost no education at all."

Fergus scoffed at that. "Half of the nobles I know can barely read. Lazy sods. What do you think, Loghain?"

"About the nobles? 'Lazy sods' about covers it. About young Lord Robin? I've no idea. I've only seen him briefly."

No one really expected a nephew to much resemble an uncle, after all.

* * *

Later that day, Telamon and Sketch arrived at the Compound, coming down from the Peak to do some recruiting in the Alienage. With them was Madcap, the puppy—now rather more than a puppy—that had imprinted on Telamon. She was growing up splendidly, a strong and healthy young bitch with a shining yellow coat. The pale fur that given her that flowery name had not darkened much.

The dogs were enchanted to see Madcap again. There was much sniffing and nosing, and many _"whuffs"_ and wags of approval. Loghain wondered what the Alienage elves would think of an elf with his own mabari. It might be intimidating, but it could only add to Telamon's prestige among them.

They brought a sheaf of letters with them.

"Anything that Keenan thought he couldn't deal with himself is here," Telamon said. "Some of them are from Weisshaupt. One of them's for you, Commander." Telamon smiled slyly, "And the other's for Maude. Keenan didn't think he should read her private letter."

Loghain heartily agreed, imagining what Maude would do to someone who snooped among her correspondence. Not a pretty picture.

"He did right," Loghain assured him, setting the letters aside. "Sit, and tell me about the Peak."

They had news and gossip about all the Wardens. The newest brothers and sisters were doing well. There had been some minor infractions—mostly young lads slipping down to the village without leave to visit the brothels that had sprung up to serve the Warden trade. Keenan had no trouble dealing with that sort of thing.

"We should tell him about Bethany's bad news," Sketch nudged Telamon. "We don't want her running back to Kirkwall."

"What happened?"

Before they could answer, Maude arrived to greet them. She brought Gareth with her. Telamon was eager to see the baby, and diffidently asked for permission to hold him. Sketch was manifestly less enthused.

"Yes, what happened?" Maude echoed. "You are so good with babies, Telamon!"

Sketch blurted out, "Bethany got a letter last month. Her mother's dead—murdered."

Maude frowned, "Did they catch the killer? Does she want to take leave to go home for awhile?"

Loghain repressed a sigh. He was very uneasy at the idea of allowing a Warden to leave for what might be weeks, but if Bethany had family business, he did not want to be a hypocrite. Nothing damaged morale like outright favoritism. Maude went wherever she liked, after all.

"It was bad," Telamon told them, a touch hesitantly. "She's taking it hard, and I can't blame her. Bethany got a slew of letters about what happened from her friends in Kirkwall, and in my opinion they told her a lot more than she needed to know for her own peace of mind. It wasn't just a random stabbing in Lowtown. Her mother was stalked by a madman and…well…" His voice trailed off, and he nuzzled the baby.

Sketch made a face, and took up the tale. "It was a mage. One of those rich Orlesian-descended apostates. His wife had died some time ago, and he wanted to…bring her back."

"Whoa!" Maude, even _Maude_ looked shocked. Loghain gave the elf a sharp look, wanting the rest of it.

"So apparently this madman had been killing women for years. Some Templar had been looking into it, and then Hawke and his friends got involved. Killing women, and keeping the bits that resembled his wife. She had been cremated, of course, so he was putting her back together using…other women's…parts."

"Parts?" Loghain let the question resonate in the brief silence.

"And…Bethany's mum….her head…well, her _face_ looked a lot like this dead maniac's wife, so he got her into his underground workroom and sawed her head off and sewed all…the parts… together. And when Hawke found her she was kind of alive, and knew him. Her head on top of the rest of the body, anyway. She was dressed in the dead wife's wedding gown. Hawke killed the mage, of course, and then the enchantments…wore off."

"That is seriously depraved," Maude said in awe. "That is just about the vilest thing I've ever heard an actual human do. He wasn't an abomination, was he? Not possessed by a demon?"

They were assured that no, the mage had been perfectly—or too imperfectly—human, while Loghain listened, revolted but unsurprised. An Orlesian aristocrat? No news there that such people would be the foulest sort of criminals. They had raped, tortured, mutilated, and killed as they pleased during their reign of terror in Ferelden. Their ingrained sense of entitlement made anyone else merely a thing to be used. And that world view combined with the power of a mage…a secret mage at that? There had been that mad Orlesian baroness in Amaranthine…

Kirkwall was a sick place. Everything he heard from that city confirmed his opinion. Horrible for young Bethany, of course. Her mother should never have made them travel there. Obviously, Hawke should have stayed with the Ferelden army, and Bethany should not have been exposed to the corruption of Kirkwall.

"It was bad," Telamon said again. "Her brother just told her that her mother had been stalked by a man she thought was an admirer. He sent lilies to the house the day he carried her off. They found out later that he always sent lilies to his victims. And then everybody else just had to give her the gruesome details. That uncle of hers is an idiot."

"_That's_ true!" Maude agreed. "Probably wanting to share the guilt. Absolutely no reason to tell her all that. So…does she feel she needs to be with her brother for awhile?"

"She hasn't asked, not exactly," Sketch said. "Keenan said he'd forward a request to you, Commander, but she hasn't done anything about it. She's not in good shape, though. Sigrun's spent a lot of time with her, and that seems to help. She's got her cousin, too, and she's made friends with some of the newbies."

"I think she feels that she should go, but she doesn't want to," said Telamon. "She doesn't confide in me, though."

"I'll talk to her as soon as we're back at the Peak," Loghain decided. "And Maude, write that dwarven friend of yours about what's going on."

She nodded dreamily, apparently lost in thought. Telamon and Sketch left their letters and began preparing for their Alienage adventure.

"So..." Maude murmured when they were alone at last. "It's particularly bad for her because I could see that her brother was the favorite child, and Bethany resented it. Anyway, a new initiate for the Murdered Mothers Club. There are such a _lot_ of us in the Wardens."

"It's a good thing someone as level-headed as Sigrun is there to help her get over it."

Maude gave him an odd, sad smile. "She might get _through _it, but she'll never get _over_ it. No one ever gets over a mother's murder. You know that as well as I do."

He pushed back the memories with an effort, and said briskly. "We have letters from Weisshaupt. Keenan thought it best not to open them." He handed her the parchment with the heavy silver seal.

She raised her brows, and then lay Gareth carefully across her lap. "I am willing to wager Gareth's entire patrimony that there is nothing good here." But she was a brave girl, after all, and broke the seal. He did likewise with his own thick letter.

As usual, Maude was spot on.

His own letter was a demand that he send Senior Warden Maude to Weisshaupt, "for research and study." The Wardens, among other things, were extremely curious about her pregnancy. If the child was born alive, they wanted "it" as well. If he could not see his way to obeying orders, there was an implied threat that he would be required to step down and travel to Montsimmard for reassignment. More rationally, the letter also raised the possibility of an experienced Warden mage coming to Ferelden for an evaluation.

He stared at the letter for some time, collecting his thoughts. Obviously, he was going to disregard these orders. He was not going to Orlais. Why in the Maker's name would he go to _Orlais?_ And the Wardens were not putting their Tainted paws on his son. They could send their people to try to enforce it, but it would not happen. Would not. He needed to do quite a bit more recruiting, obviously. And strengthen the Peak's defenses. If they sent one of their own people...well..._that_ he might be able to accept.

Maude's voice drifted into his consciousness.

"My, my. What have we here?" She smirked at Loghain. "It seems I've been a bad, bad girl. Woolsey's been instructed to dock my stipend as an administrative punishment for 'dereliction of duty.' I am to report Weisshaupt along with my infant, 'if it lives,' and to be there, in fact by Summersday. I've been given a painstakingly precise route, beginning with Jader by the end of Cloudreach. Then Montsimmard "for evaluation," then Val Royeaux, Cumberland "where I will be met by my official escort," and then travel up the Imperial Highway to Vol Dorma, and from there to Weisshaupt. Failure to obey orders will result in my status being annotated on my _permanent record_ as "deserter." She smiled, sweetly. "Fuck them. Is Alistair a deserter? If not, why not? Bugger them up the arse with a ballista."

She set the letter aside, gathered Gareth up in her arms, and said, "What we are going to do is send our reply to Weisshaupt. The _Wild Wyvern_ will take it across to Cumberland directly, and we'll have someone pass it on at Nevarra. And we will tell those inept and pathetic cowards in their faraway mountain hideyholes why I will not accept their so-kind invitations."

Her composure calmed Loghain somewhat. What were the Wardens going to do? Invade Ferelden? The First Warden could do nothing that would cause the nations of Thedas to regard the order as a threat. Acting harshly against those who had stopped the Blight would gain them no credibility. His Warden correspondents were for the most part also dissatisfied with the quality of leadership and the kind of orders coming out of Weisshaupt. Yes. He would write. If they wanted to send one of their own people to have a look at Maude, that was acceptable. He would make clear that any harm to Maude or his son would be visited a hundredfold on the perpetrators. And he would send copies to all the Warden outposts too.

* * *

With so many meetings, so many councils, so many Maker-cursed parties, Loghain and Maude had little time for recruiting themselves, but the Wardens with them had not been idle.

While they spread their coin widely and freely, Anders and Morrigan particularly liked a shop called The Wonders of Thedas, the foremost purveyor of magical supplies and rare books in Denerim. Unsurprisingly, they saw other mages there, come to cautiously patronize the establishment. Cautiously, because the Tranquil proprietor regularly reported his customers to the Chantry, as part of a new policy instituted by the late and unlamented Berengar de Malsange. Nonetheless, it was a place where one could purchase all sorts of oddities and often, the only place with a reliable supply and dependable quality.

It was not surprising that something came of these acquaintances. One afternoon they returned to the Compound, wanting to see Loghain and Maude, and trundled into the Wardens' library with a pair of disreputable young men in tow. They looked altogether too thin, and both of them smelled a bit.

"They wish to Join the Wardens," Morrigan said crisply, obviously unimpressed with the day's catch. "They _claim _to be mages."

"Begged us, actually," Anders grinned. "Ran after us in the street when they saw us outside The Wonders of Thedas."

The lads flinched away from Loghain's stare. One looked at the floor; the other glanced longingly at the door. Maude leaned back in her chair, mightily amused.

Very handsome young men they were, Anders, gave their names as Damien and Corentin: the one dark and slender, the other fair and stocky. Their body language implied that they were quite devoted to each other, and Loghain hoped that one would not die in the Joining, leaving the other to grieve, because that would be depressing for everyone.

"Is this true?" Loghain demanded.

"Well…" Damien cringed.

The blonde boy elbowed him, hissing, _"'my lord…'"_

"Wha'? Oh. Right. Well, my lord, we did approach these Wardens. That's right. For career advice."

Anders burst out in angry laughter. "You little shirtlifter! You two chased us down, pleading with us to conscript you!"

Morrigan smirked, "Of course, they had had nothing to eat all day until we took them to tavern to talk it over." She gave the lads a raking look. "Loghain, these pathetic hedge mages did indeed beg our protection. We gave them a meal and they lost interest as their bellies filled. I think they are very likely worthless—"

"Here now!" protested Damien.

"Anyway," Anders ignored him, "We agreed that we'd let you decide whether to conscript them or not, and we told the lads they'd get another meal out of it if they came here with us. We could just put them out on the street, but even as toothless as the Templars are at the moment, they would have them in a day or two. At their age, that means summary execution."

"That would be a shame," Maude said, silvery voice vibrating with compassion. "It's much better for them to have a nice home with the Wardens and perhaps…some remedial training?"

"A great _deal _of training," Morrigan warned her.

Loghain looked them over dispassionately. Magic ability would prove useful, one way or another. Surely these two were good for _something._ "Very well, your wish is granted, and you are henceforth Grey Warden recruits. We'll wait to train you until you actually Join. Give them food and a bath, for Maker's sake!"

These were not their only recruits.

Loghain was astonished when Kain and Darrow, between them, rounded up over twenty candidates: sound men too. Or they had been. Peace had not been good for Loghain's lovingly constructed army. He railed at the Maker and Chantry Boy in private, but there was little he could do except take on the discharged soldiers himself. His sergeants had brought him the best of the best, a bit rough around the edges and given to drinking more than was good for them, but really splendid fighters. Even better, they all had a modicum of discipline. Loghain hoped that most would survive. These men had already fought darkspawn, and were willing to do so again, for a place to sleep and food in their bellies. Loghain was glad that the Wardens could do better for them that that.

And Telamon came through, in the Alienage. Two nights before they were due to leave Denerim, he and Sketch arrived with a half dozen elves: thin, shabbily dressed elves, their worldly possessions in ragged bundles, looking about with wide and shining eyes. Five young men and a pretty red-haired young woman. They were presented to Loghain and Maude for their inspection.

"_She_ can fight?" Loghain asked, a little astonished, indicating the girl. She looked too gentle and mild for a warrior, and ducked her head a little fearfully, avoiding Loghain's eyes.

Maude elbowed him, with a mildly reproving look. Telamon was too polite to take any notice of Loghain's remark. Or his stares. Or Maude's elbow.

Instead, he said, "Warden-Commander, Your Grace, I present to you Liridon, Visar, Alek, Glindel, and Varagor. They wish to Join us. And this—" he took the girl gently by the hand and led her forward, "is my wife Lyris. We were married today."

"How wonderful!" cried Maude, pink with enthusiasm. "Congratulations to you both! I hope you'll be very happy together."

"I thank you, Your Grace," the girl said in a soft and pleasant voice, bowing low. She, too, was clutching a lumpy bag.

Loghain remembered that Telamon had expressed himself inclined to marry one of the girls that the Alienage elder was throwing his way. At least he'd got himself a pretty one. Maude, of course, was obviously already planning to give them a wedding present. Well, why not? If they could give presents to the likes of Habren Bryland and that appalling de Launcet girl, they could give a poor elf something, too. At least the girl wasn't shrieking in his ear.

Telamon led his charges off to find suitable accommodations. Maude rushed off to tell everyone about Telamon's new wife, and to arrange some sort of celebration. At such short notice, it did not amount to much more than wine for everyone, and a very nice fruit-and-nut cake, but the Wardens gave them presents: mostly loot, but very welcome. The bride's eyes grew enormous at the sight of it all.

* * *

"She's nice, I think," Maude said later the next day. "Very nice. Very quiet, but nice. And she has an inkle loom. I talked her into showing it to me."

"What?" Loghain scowled over his letters, not quite catching the word.

"An inkle loom," Maude repeated patiently. "For weaving ribbons and belts. Just a little thing, but with it she earned her living for the past few years. I got her to tell me her story, all the more easily because she knew me by sight when I visited the Alienage. Also, I'm a woman, and therefore not so terrifying."

Loghain set down the letter to listen. "Does she feel a personal grievance against me?"

"She's afraid of you, certainly, but you did fight to defend the Alienage. No, her life went downhill long before the Tevinters arrived. You remember that disgusting affair of Vaughan's?"

"The one you killed him over?" Loghain recalled that Maude had been offended by Vaughan's abduction and rape of elves at a wedding. "Was she one of the brides?"

"A bridesmaid." Maude said. "And she believes, with some reason, that everything that went wrong could ultimately be traced back to that day. Vaughan trooped in with armed guards to carry out his abductions and rapes...it's beyond disgusting. One of the bridesmaids was gutted for praying too loudly. They were dragged off for Vaughan's party, and naturally Lyris doesn't want to talk about that. She and Shianni limped back a few days later, badly hurt and very bitter, as you can imagine. It made Shianni angry and aggressive, but this girl shrank away from it all. There was more trouble because one of the brides put up a fight and a lot of guards were killed. Lyris doesn't know what happened to her. Some elves were arrested, like Soris—the fellow I freed from Howe's dungeons. He was mixed up in the failed rescue attempt and was lucky he didn't hang. Now _he_ told me that the girl who put up a fight was killed, but he might have just been covering for her. Anyway, it was a hideous crime. If the elves weren't angry enough, the surviving girls had to pay out their entire dowries as a fine for "indecent behavior!" I wish I could kill that bastard again. No wonder the Alienage rioted!"

"That didn't go so well," Loghain noted.

"Not at all. Lyris' parents were killed in the purge that followed, and she couldn't manage the rent on her own, so the landlord threw her out. She was canny enough to avoid the Tevinters, because she was afraid of human men. So she eked out a living making ribbons, and slept in the corner of someone else's kitchen. She spent the battle huddled in a cellar with some other women and children. She had no dowry left, and after what Vaughan and his friends had done to her she was not considered particularly marriageable; but Telamon was offered practically anyone, and he fancied her. She thinks it's the best thing that ever happened to her. It probably is. It's a huge deal for her to have a room to live in that she shares only with her new husband. And to have an actual bed. It's all unheard-of luxury for her."

* * *

The last recruit was a young dwarf, and he came to the Compound dressed in his finest, with a trunk full of designs and a head full of ideas.

"Temmerin Glavonak, Warden-Commander," he introduced himself. "I believe you know my uncles."

* * *

The Landsmeet wound down, and at last they could escape. Loghain, on the deck of the _Wild Wyvern,_ watched Denerim shrink away with a certain bittersweet relief. He was fond of Rhoswyn—very fond—but she belonged to her parents, and his life was elsewhere.

"I only hope Chantry Boy doesn't ruin her." He muttered to Maude.

"She's going to be the way she's going to be," Maude said, more philosophical, and not so closely related to the child, after all. "If she takes after Alistair, it will be unfortunate, but there's not a thing we can do about it. I think you need to work on your _Garethopedia_ when we're back at the Peak. That will take your mind off Rhoswyn and her doting papa."

That was true. That was very true. He had an entire section yet to write about crop rotation and the benefits of the three-field system. A great noble was, among other things, a farmer on a large scale. Just as it was his responsibility to protect his people, he must see that they were fed.

He had never thought he would admit it, but he was glad to be sailing home. Otherwise, they would have ended up traveling part of the way with the Howes. Instead, they had made their farewells to them at the end of a formal dinner. Due to Anders' ministrations, the newly-made Lady Babette was in far better health. She was given a supply of potions to take for the next three months, and Anders promised to visit before Summersday. Nathaniel was grim-faced and ominously silent. That, too, was a situation far beyond Loghain's control, nor did Maude wish to involve herself, other than to converse quietly and sympathetically with Delilah. Loghain had no idea if the marriage had been consummated, and really and truly did not _want_ to know.

The chest containing Nathaniel's hard-won thousand sovereigns was stowed in a heavy wagon would return with him to his keep in the city of Amaranthine, heavily guarded. That was the only thing that gave the young man any satisfaction.

_"I feel like a whore," he confided bitterly to Loghain, when the two men withdrew to talk together briefly. "At least I know what my price is, now."_

_"Don't let yourself brood over it," Loghain advised him, not liking this train of thought. "You made a sound and canny deal and got the coin you need to put Amaranthine on its feet. You made a sacrifice, yes; but the arling and your city will be safer and more prosperous for it. And who knows? Now that your wife is around decent people, she may improve a great deal. Delilah is bound to be a good influence."_

_Nathaniel shot him a dark look, clearly unconvinced. "My...wife..." He grimaced, as if not liking the taste of the words.  
_

What would happen, would happen. It was all the more reason to be glad that they would not be spending the next few days watching that calamitous situation unfold. Loghain took another deep breath of sea air. It was not so bad, really. One could get used to this. On this ship, he was surrounded by people he liked, and did not have to make political conversation with anyone, unless Maude got one of her _ideas._ She, however, was too busy for politics at the moment: busy with Gareth, busy with sword exercise, busy chatting up the new recruits, and busy comforting those who were already looking a little green.

Fergus, too, had perked up a great deal as they left the harbor. He was eager to get home and see his own family—to see the changes to Highever Town and the continuing renovation of his castle. There would be a brief stop at the Isle of Mourne, and then they would be out on the open sea with all the tiresome business of the Landsmeet behind them for another year.

It was well that the voyage would be of very short duration, for the ship was fairly crowded. Young Robin Pommy was sticking close to Fergus. Between the household steward and his tutor he had been well outfitted for his new role in life. and seemed to think the world of the Teyrn of Highever. Perhaps he was glad to get away from his mother and the mob of children at Prickleweed Manor, and start his life as a man. Loghain smiled wryly. In this case the 'man' was not yet thirteen years old, but many boys—and girls—were apprenticed even earlier. And Fergus had taken to him, too. Young Lord Robin was only a year or two older than his son Oren would have been, had Rendon Howe not killed him.

Loghain mused over the irony of it, but really, what did the boy's birth matter? Loghain was hardly one to care that the boy was not really a king's nephew.

Their visit to Mourne went smoothly, and they saw no signs of pirates in Denerim Bay. No trouble of any sort, in fact. The mage colony was given their supplies; Petra was given her commission; arrangements were explained as to when the builders would come to repair the tower. Anders embraced his old classmates, and the _Wild Wyvern_ embarked once more, on a serene and dark-blue sea.

"It's pretty, but sort of…dull," Maude sulked. "How can I justify killing people and taking their stuff, if nobody will _fight_ me? Where are all the pirates?"

"You have all the 'stuff' you need," Loghain said shortly, very glad that Maude had not taken it into her head to raid peaceful villages to satisfy her desire for plunder. "You have enough stuff already for you, Gareth, and all his future children. We have _too much_ stuff, in fact."

"Maybe," she admitted grudgingly. "I should give everybody a lot of presents, and then I'll have room for more."

In four days they put in at Breaker's Cove, and were nearly home. They found that the village had grown in the months of their absence. It was becoming a real town; full of layabouts, thieves, drunkards, and whores. Loghain scowled, seeing some work ahead of him. Civilization was such a bloody bother, sometimes.

"Look, Fergus!" Maude cried, "There's the War Dog Inn! Won't you at least stop for a pint?"

"One pint," her brother agreed, "while you and your impedimenta disembark. Then I've got to go home. Cauthrien and I will visit this summer, I promise!"

That was the arrangement, anyway. _The Wild Wyvern_ would take Fergus all the way to Highever, faster and more safely than he could ride. He had quite a bit of cargo, too, which was more easily shipped by water. The ship would leave on the evening tide. and by the following morning, Fergus would be in Highever, in the bosom—the impressive bosom—of his family. Loghain smirked. Cauthrien had been well-endowed from from her late teens. The ship would return as soon as possible, ready to take their letters across the Waking Sea.

The mob of nobles, Wardens, recruits, and dogs flooded into the War Dog Inn, earning the tavernkeeper enough to keep his family for half a year. Across the muddy little street, a barfight spilled outside from one of the brothels. Some of the Wardens watched the entertainment, but the Couslands were more interested in their ale. Maude glanced at the fight and then dismissed it.

"Amateurs," she muttered. "Don't look at them them, Robin, they're doing it wrong." She turned her attention back to her tankard. "Loghain, this is good ale. I'm so glad," she approved. "We don't want any horsepiss in Wardentown."

"Or anywhere," Fergus agreed, a bit of foam in his beard. "Except for…outside. When it's real horsepiss."

Loghain rolled his eyes and peered out the tiny windows at the harbor. There. Just west where the hills began. He'd put the watchtower there. And the men he'd put there wouldn't be simply watching the sea. No. Breaker's Cover was going to need a Village Watch to keep an eye on the people here. They certainly could bear watching.

* * *

Spring was ablaze on the foothills. Prickleweed starred with little yellow flowers, bright blue lupins, pink-and-white bindweed, and then shooting stars and buttercups as they climbed higher. A golden haze of honeygrass floated on the meadows, the scent still light and fresh, but soon to become heady, honey-sweet, and voluptuous in the summer heat. Sheep grazed peacefully, and a few young foals frolicked in the pastures. It was too soon for any of Shadow's offspring, but that too would come in time. Everything spoke of peace and plenty and honest hard work.

"Loghain!" Maude cried, "The orchards!"

Heavy with blossom, the orchards were a joy to see. Loghain eyed them critically, taking note of where the trees still needed thinning. Perhaps after Maude had finished enjoying the flowers; snow-white or rose-pink. If the rain held steady, they would have a fine apple harvest.

Keenan had been told of their arrival, and was there to meet them at the gate. All the Wardens had assembled to greet their returning Commander and the new recruits. Quite of few of them wanted a peep at the new baby, who with Oghren's daughter Maddie joined the ranks as a "young Warden." Telamon's new wife was greeted kindly, and she looked about her in dazed amazement at the splendor of the Peak.

Things were fine; everything was going well, he was assured. Here and there were some serious faces, like Mistress Woolsey, and Bethany looked sad; but most were in good spirits and appeared to have nothing serious they wished to hide from him. And he entered the Great Hall with a great deal of pride. He had almost forgotten how splendid they had made it. After a short respite, he was ready to settle down to work.

A training expedition for the new recruits to gather their darkspawn blood was the first order of business, and given their circumstances, it would be undertaken without delay. Five teams, led by Sigrun, Morrigan, Darrow, Kain, and Oghren, would take the recruits out. Loghain wanted an experienced mage in each team, and assigned Anders, Sketch, Bethany, and Ambrose to the duty as well. They were to be back in a week, while Loghain settled back into the Peak, played with his son, and wrote his letters.

Then he thought again, and decided he needed to talk to Bethany first. He had seen Maude speaking with the girl, holding her hands, and peering into her face in concern. With so small a command, it was really his responsibility to know the condition of his own people.

Before dinner, she was told to report to him in War Room, where they could be private.

She was a very pretty girl. He had always thought so. She looked a little sadder and older now, only a few months since he had last seen her, but that was the human condition, after all.

"I was very sorry to hear about your mother," he said at once. "A painful loss. Maude and I wondered if you needed to go home and spend some time with your brother. If you want leave, you have only to ask."

She looked desperately uncomfortable. "It's kind of you to say so, Commander, but no. I think I should stay here. I have work here, after all, and I don't want everything to fall to my friends."

Loghain narrowed his eyes, considering. "Would you prefer it if your cousin were to travel with you?" For that matter, he would not want a Warden to travel alone. anyway. "He might be glad to see Kirkwall again, and to meet your brother."

"There is that," Bethany admitted, "but I'm not sure what good I could do. I don't think Adam needs me, and I might just be in his way. Mother has already had her funeral—for what it was worth," she muttered. "The murderer has had justice. There's nothing really for me to do. If I had been there, maybe I could have made a difference—maybe I could have saved her. But I wasn't, so I'll never know."

"No," he said forcefully. "You will never know. Dwelling on might-have-beens is useless. If you think going to Kirkwall would give you closure, you should go. If you think it would be picking at scabs, you should not. Which is it?"

"I don't want to go," she confessed, worrying at her lip. "I hoped you'd tell me I couldn't, so Adam would blame you."

Loghain forbore to sigh. _Ah, women._ She was very young, after all.

"Tell him that your duties are too pressing right now, if you like," he said. "Perhaps in the future you'll change your mind. If you're going to be here, though, I expect you to be fit for duty. I want to send you with the recruits on their mission to collect their darkspawn blood. Are you up to it?"

"Yes," she sounded fairly positive. "I'd like to do something important. It's nice here, but I'll be all right if I go. Morrigan said something to me about those two new mages," she paused, since she was a well-mannered young lady, "er...needing training."

"If they survive the expedition and then the Joining, there will time enough for that. I'll send one of them with your party, and the other with your cousin's. Perhaps in the course of the expedition you'll gain some insight into what's needed there. The first priority, of course, is for you and your team to stay alive."

"I can do that," she nodded. "I'll be all right, Commander. Survival. One day at a time. I can do that."

"See that you do."

The teams departed two days later, and Loghain turned his attention to the group of Wardens who had joined in Firstfall. Training reports were neatly stacked on his desk, detailing each Warden's strengths and weaknesses. He had a good little force at his command now. But it was, in fact, a _little_ force. There should be at least a hundred Fereldan Wardens. Their thirty-two recruits should help to add up toward that number. He hoped most of them would make it through the Joining. For that matter, he hoped that most of them would make it through the Deep Roads. He had ordered Morrigan to be certain that Temmerin Glavonak, their very own first-rate dwarven engineer, did.

And they had to sit down for a talk with Mistress Woolsey, the treasurer appointed by Weisshaupt.

"I don't give two hoots for the stipend, of course," Maude told her candidly. "But I don't think calling me a 'deserter' is at all rational, when I'm here and working like a maniac, training the newbies and planting gardens."

The woman's lips thinned. "I have my orders from the First Warden himself. He said you were to report to him."

"Well," Maude gently tried to help the woman understand. "I'm not going to. I'm busy here. I have work to do. And it wouldn't be good for Gareth to travel for thousands of miles for strangers to poke at him. Or, I suspect, do a great deal worse than poke. He's fine here. Anders can send them a nice report on Gareth's health if they're interested. Or they hinted they might send one of their own people here. That's not not so disruptive, but I really don't see how my little baby boy—who is _not_ a Warden—is any of their business."

"I shall record that you have voluntarily renounced any remuneration from the Order," the treasurer declared stiffly.

"Fine!" Maude said, eyes guileless, hand up in perfect acceptance. "Fine! I make more in loot in a month than a whole year of the stipend anyway, or at least I did before I became a mother. Now I can rely on my son to support me in the manner to which I intend to become accustomed. He's richer than I am, anyway."

Their ship returned, and together they wrote their letter to the First Warden. The final draft was clear, rational, dignified, and persuasive. Copies were duly sent to all the Warden posts, and Loghain's cover letter varied, based on his opinion of the Commander. He felt it should put the issue to rest.

Still, Maude had never looked so happy, so radiant, so utterly blissful, as when she wrote her first draft in her most exquisite hand. Loghain chuckled over it, and then locked it away, never to be seen by other eyes.

Perhaps he should burn it, but he might need diversion someday...

And then, too... If the First Warden continued to give them trouble, perhaps he would print up some copies and publish it in every corner of Thedas.

* * *

_To the First Warden—_

_Greetings from Ferelden!_

_F-E-R-E-L-D-E-N_

_That is a country south of the Waking Sea and east of Orlais. It is not part of Orlais, whatever those quiche-eaters tell you. They are liars. I am enclosing a clearly- marked modern map, in case you can't afford one._

_We don't like Orlais. We are not part of their country. They invaded, and we handed them their arses. Confusing Ferelden with Orlais is a really stupid and offensive thing to do. Stop it.  
_

_Got that?_

_Now, then, to business:  
_

_So you think you can order me to come to Weisshaupt, you shithead? Suck. My. Dick._

_You couldn't be arsed to stand with us during an actual Blight, and now you think I should come slinking north to you, like a naughty schoolgirl, bending over for the cane? Fuck you._

_You think I should be afraid of a pack of useless cowards who hid up in your fortress while I gathered armies and faced the Archdemon? You're joking, right? Bring it on, Ghoul Boy. You'll never be the man I am. __I am the Blightqueller, the Dragonslayer, the Darkspawnsbane. You, on the other hand, will never be anything but a guano-faced clerk._  


_As for handing over my child to you— Well, what can I say? I suppose he's the sort of enemy you're capable of dealing with. In a year or two, though...not so much. It's not going to happen. I don't know what you want him for, but I do know you to be completely without honor and dead to all shame. So, no. Not interested in an extended holiday in the lovely Anderfels this year or any other.  
_

_You dare to accuse me of being a deserter, you dickless wonder. How many dragons have you killed? No, I don't mean how many did Garahel kill or your umpty-great-grandfather or Emperor Kordillius. I mean YOU. That's what I thought. I've killed three High Dragons personally— and seven mature dragons, six drakes, and uncounted dragonlings. And then I ate them. I've killed two Broodmothers. No, I did not strike the killing blow that killed the Archdemon, but neither did you, fuckhead. At least I was there. My husband did that, by the way. He tripped me and cheated, but that's a whole other story. Anyway, he can beat you up. I can beat you up. In about six years, my son can beat you up, too. And the horse you rode in on._

_I never wanted to be part of your crap Order, but I'll always be the best Warden in Thedas. None of you have done what I've done. None of you have been where I've been. None have you have seen what I've seen. For you to criticize me in any fashion proves that you farted your wits out your arse at your Joining. Keep your crappy stipend, tightwad, and hire a brain._

_You don't seem to have a problem with the King of Ferelden being a Warden, so I guess your problem is that I'm a woman. Is that it? Do the Grey Wardens secretly despise women, and think of ways to make their lives hell? Think carefully before you answer that one, you tosser. I'm on to you. Sending female Grey Wardens alone into the Deep Roads to become Broodmothers is, was, and always will be just about the stupidest and vilest policy the Wardens ever came up with.  
_

_So I declare to you my refusal, my derision, and my everlasting contempt. You, the First Warden, who so utterly failed in your duty to resist the Blight, have dared to call me derelict in my duty and a deserter. I don't think those words mean what you think they mean, idiot.  
_

_If your tiny mind cannot grasp what I have written, let me make it simple for you: I don't consider myself bound to obey the commands of someone so hopelessly unworthy of his title. I defy you, wanker.  
_

_I am actually extremely busy right now, but if you really want to discuss this matter further, you are welcome to come to Ferelden. See what real Wardens do. I warn you, though: it might involve fighting darkspawn. Wear a nappie.  
_

_With all sisterly regard,_

_Maude Cousland MacTir_

_Senior Warden of Ferelden_

_Regent of Gwaren_

_Andraste's True Champion _

* * *

**Thanks to my reviewers:** MsBarrows, Zemmiphobia, mille libri, JOdel, Sn0w0wl, Jyggilag, Josie Lange, Kira Kyuu, tgc goddess, Phygmalion, .heart, anon, Judy, Aoi24, Jenna53, JackOfBladesX, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, vertigomunchkin, riverdaleswhiteflash, Ellyanah, Mike3207, Tso Doh Nimh, Shakespira, Zute, EpitomyofShyness, Costin, KnightOfHolyLight, Sarah, and Gene Dark.

I decided to make the city elf bride's story congruent with canon from my other story, Victory at Ostagar. In this story, too, Melian Tabris (Adaia) put up a fight and escaped, hiding out in the cellar of her home. After that, I can only presume she was captured by the Alienage guards and taken north to be sold to the Tevinter slavers. I hope she eventually got away. However, the timeline changes a lot after Ostagar, and other things might have happened. At any rate, she was not in the Alienage when Maude came to confront the slavers.

To get the feel of Maude's unsent letter to the First Warden, I had another look at one of my favorite historical letters, the reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks to Sultan Mehmed IV. The unexpurgated version is available at Wikipedia. Maude's letter is much more polite. There's a cool painting of the subject by Ilya Repin that you might enjoy.


	45. Visitors to Breaker's Cove

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 45: Visitors to Breaker's Cove**

Of the thirty-two new recruits sent out to collect their darkspawn blood, thirty-one made it back to Soldier's Peak. Of the thirty-one who took the Joining, twenty-six survived. There were now fifty-seven Ferelden Wardens.

To Morrigan's immense irritation, the two silly young mages, Corentin and Damien, survived; while other, braver men did not. The Joining was still a mystery, and probably always would be. She assigned Bethany to mentor Damien, and Ambrose to mentor Corentin, and then washed her hands of them. If they could at least learn some healing spells, they would not be completely useless. The other mages they had were sound enough to make up for the young recruits' deficiencies.

Sketch had managed to learn to shape-shift. He had mastered rabbit form with astonishing speed: he had seen, hunted, and eaten a lot of rabbits. The form came easily to him, though he disliked the jokes about the similar ears. However, Ranger and Topaz had also seen, hunted, and eaten a lot of rabbits; and the embarrassing series of events that followed convinced Sketch that rabbit form was definitely a Bad Idea. It was extremely entertaining for everyone else, however. The dogs followed him everywhere, and continued to eye him speculatively, waiting for him to revert to a smaller, tastier form.

"A horse would be good," Maude suggested. "The dogs won't attack a horse. Something that isn't prey would be the thing."

"I think birds are best," Bethany remarked. "Birds of prey high up away from the _dogs."_

"Or," Ambrose considered, "Why not _be_ a dog? Humans won't hunt a dog, and most animals give them a wide berth. I think being a mabari might be very useful, if someone wanted to do a bit of spying."

Ranger was impressed by the wisdom of the dark-haired mage, and came over to look him in the eye, considering what sort of man he was, and if he was good enough to be a dog. It would be all right with Ranger, as long the mage remembered who was the alpha of the pack.

To Loghain's immense relief, Temmerin Glavonak was now a Warden. He was so useful an engineer that Loghain was not sure he would ever risk him in the Deep Roads again. He was put to work on what the Senior Wardens called The Stardust Project: taking the initial research into reverse engineering gaatlok, and rendering it into forms that could be used effectively by the Wardens. Two of the dwarves from the last recruitment had enough training to serve as effective assistants. Loghain had great hopes of them. A new stone building, at some distance from the castle, was constructed as their workshop, with strong walls and a rather light roof, which Temmerin explained would be best if there were an unfortunate accident.

It worked to assign other Wardens to partner the new recruits, and Loghain gave serious thought to those assignments. There was a regular training rota; and a regular rota for work around the Peak, as well. Eventually they would have all the tenants and hirelings they needed to look after the horses and the sheep-shearing and the gardens, but for now, everyone lent a hand doing something or other. There was always a great deal of work to be done in the spring.

Telamon's wife Lyris was a biddable girl, and eager to make a place for herself. She was an experienced weaver; and there was now a big room in the lower levels set aside for spinning and weaving. They _could_ buy all their cloth, but it seemed foolishly extravagant not to make some use of their wool themselves. Even if the women working there only made blankets at first, that would be extremely useful. Lyris and Clerys had made friends quickly, and worked out that they were distant cousins from both the matrilineal and patrilineal lines. It was not close enough to count among humans unless an inheritance were in question; but it mattered to city elves, and gave them a sense of family.

Maude liked messing about in her rose garden, and carried Gareth outside, well guarded by the dogs, while she put the bushes in order. She got her wish when a shipment of apricot and plum trees arrived, and she watched Loghain plant them along a stone wall facing north. Sheltered in such a way, they at least stood a chance.

"You won't let me help," she sulked.

"I don't _need_ any help," Loghain told her, wiping sweat from his face. "It's easier to do it myself."

"Are you sure?" she insisted. "Because I could—"

"Maude." He forced himself to be patient. She was a nursing mother, after all. "I don't need. Any. Help."

"Spoilsport."

* * *

More letters arrived. Maude tore into one of them with enthusiasm.

"Leliana! It's about time!"

Loghain had told Mairead to take some time for himself, and was playing with his baby son. It was a pleasure to hold the tiny body close while Maude scanned her letter, her face clouding more with every word. Finally she dropped the parchment on to the desk, scowling, and began pacing in agitation.

"Bad news?"

"For me, I suppose. Leliana sounds happy. Now she is, I mean. She wasn't before. So, here's the story." She took a deep breath. "Riordan went to his Calling in Wintermarch. Leliana traveled with him to Orzammar, and they had a melancholy but passionate farewell, and so forth, and so forth,"

"No details, please," Loghain said crisply.

"You can read her letter if you want. It's like one of the spicy Orlesian romances Wynne favored."

"I don't much care for Orlesian romances, spicy or plain, thank you."

"—So she kissed him goodbye, etcetera, and went back to Val Royeaux to mope, and being Leliana, to take comfort in the pretty sights and sounds and smells of the Grand Cathedral. She is so _very_ pious, after all…"

Loghain was really more interested the growing light of remarkable intelligence in Gareth's big blue eyes, but humored his wife. "Go on."

"She ran into an old friend there, a priest whom she says once saved her life back in her wild criminal days as a bard. Mother Dorothea is a rising power in the Chantry, and she spun a yarn about Leliana using her wonderful skills for good. That sort of rubbish; but, sad to say, Leliana fell for it. Leliana is terribly gullible."

"So the Chantry politician wanted her own bard."

"Something like that. Leliana admitted to the priest that she was now a Grey Warden, but the Revered Mother patted her on the head and told her 'Nobody's perfect,' or something of the sort, and so Leliana has not only taken Chantry vows, she's become a Seeker!"

Loghain looked up, taking in the news. He found it all very ominous. Leliana did not know all their secrets, but she knew more than he liked.

"The Seekers of Truth? The Divine's secret inquisitors?

"Their _investigators,_ if you want to put it more politely. I can see that you don't. Generally they're investigating their own people, which is why the Templars hate them." She paused in her pacing. "That's one good thing. She'll be giving Templars a hard time…"

Gareth grinned, and grasped Loghain's thick forefinger in a tiny hand. That wrung a smile from him. "Morrigan will be pleased," he said to Maude. "She's never liked Leliana."

"Morrigan will be _smug,"_ Maude corrected, throwing herself into a chair and slouching, thoroughly vexed. "You know how she is when she's _smug._ She'll say things about people who can't keep one set of vows, so why would they keep another…?"

"Morrigan would be perfectly within her rights to say that."

"If Leliana were here, I could talk her out of it. I know I could."

"But she is _not_ here, and Mother Dorothea apparently also has extraordinary powers of persuasion. And Leliana, as you say, is very pious." A comforting thought occurred to him. "If she were here," he said, his voice carefully silky, "she would want a chapel in the castle and a chantry in the town."

"That would be tiresome," Maude agreed, coming over to play with Gareth. "I don't mind priests, as long as they don't meddle in anything _important,_ but I don't want any Templars around."

"Then you must let her go, Maude. Let her go her own way."

Morrigan was very smug indeed, when given the news at dinnertime. Oddly enough, when discussing the letter, they discovered the Bethany was acquainted with Leliana, from their days in Lothering. Once assured that they were speaking of the same Leliana whom she had known as a lay sister who told wonderful stories, she recalled Leliana's bright red hair and pretty accent.

Loghain _humphed_ at that.

Maude explained to Bethany, "Loghain doesn't find Orlesian accents 'pretty.' They make him want to kill things."

The girl laughed merrily. "Then the streets would run red if he ever visited Kirkwall!"

"Probably," grunted Loghain.

Laughter rippled down the table.

* * *

"Slide it into place! Don't drop it, for Maker's sake!"

There was something immensely satisfying about laying the cornerstone of a new watchtower. Loghain had promised himself that the one on the little hill overlooking Breaker's Cove would be the very last word in modern fortifications.

Their little village could not be neglected. The Wardens used it for recreation, and more and more for trade. Perhaps in the days of Commander Asturian, Ferelden had been too primitive and underpopulated, but Loghain wondered why the Wardens had never made a point of developing a civilian village to support the order. Even excepting the handy little harbor, Breaker's Cove was becoming extremely useful. More and more craftsfolk were settling here. Maude had planned out improvements to the single lane through the village, and had drawn up a design for a long stone building to house more shops. At this rate, they were going to be siphoning trade away from Amaranthine in no time.

The watchtower was going to be a jewel of its kind, filled with the best weapons and the best people available. In Denerim, Loghain had spoken to one of his former soldiers. Sergeant Tarren was to be the new Watch Captain at Breaker's Cove, and was bringing along some old friends of hers to serve as watchmen. Tarren had refused outright to become a Warden, but she was amenable to settling down, after a fashion. Or perhaps she wanted to take her two young nephews away from the bad influences of Denerim and the deteriorating situation in the army housing. Loghain wished her good luck with that. It seemed to him that Breaker's Cove was rife with all sorts of bad influences of its own. At any rate, Tarren would stand for no nonsense. She was due to arrive any day now, and perhaps could knock some heads together. Tactfully. She had always been good at that.

Maude had gone off with the maids and the baby to visit Evelina, the village…schoolmistress…he supposed she was. Evelina had brought a mob of children with her, former refugees she had spirited away to Kirkwall during the Blight. As she was already teaching them their letters, others were paying her to include their sprogs in the lessons. It was not widely known that Evelina was a mage. Loghain hoped they could keep it quiet. As far as he knew, none of the children living with her or attending her little school was magical.

Right now, while rather rowdy, Breaker's Cove had a 'live and let live' working philosophy that Loghain found refreshing. A few people had made noises about building a Chantry, but where there were Chantries, there tended to be Templars, and Loghain did not want to share any authority whatever with them. If a mage caused trouble, Loghain felt he and his Wardens could deal with it speedily and effectively. They did not need bucket-headed bigots to interfere. If some mild-mannered priest wanted to open a chapel and do good works, that was one thing: a competing warlord was quite another.

In his youth, even when Ferelden was under Orlesian control, priests and lay brothers and sisters had gone about their business in the country, not requiring armed guards. Over the past twenty years, the growing militarization of the Chantry had resulted in it being concentrated in the sizable towns and villages. If someone in the Warden demesene wanted a wedding in a Chantry, they would have to go to Highever, Oswin, or Amaranthine. There were other forms of marriage, of course. He would have the Watch Captain keep a registry of civil marriages. For that matter, people could just call each other husband and wife—plenty of the poor did that—or follow Maude's precedent of an Alamarri custom marriage. That, of course, required a public duel, either between the concerned parties or their champions.

He thought about it again. It might be entertaining, at that. If they paved out the little town square in Maude's design, they could have duels there.

Such pleasant thoughts were put by as Loghain became conscious of an unusual amount of noise coming from the village. Another bar fight?

No. That was a child's scream. His head jerked up, and he scanned the village below. There was activity…a lot of activity. Another scream reached him, borne on the eastern breeze.

"Commander?" Darrow was frowning, looking in the same direction.

"Wardens! With me!" Loghain directed. "We'll see what's going on. The rest of you," he ordered the dwarven builders. "Stay here! And keep working!"

The hill needed stone steps, he decided, as he half-slid down them, hurrying to see what was happening…what might be happening to Maude…to Gareth. By the time he reached the bottom of the hill, he was running.

He had Darrow and Kain. He had Topaz. Who was with Maude? Ranger and Onyx, of course.

Bethany knew Evelina from Kirkwall, and was with her. The two maids had accompanied them, though they would need Maude's protection, rather than being of any help.

By the time he was in Breaker's Cove's little muddy lane, it was clear that this was not a bar fight: it was a battle. A battle against a mob of crazed dwarves. The town was rising up against them: at a dyer's shop the owner smashed a pair of dye pots over a dwarf's head. The dwarf staggered, head half blue and half yellow, the pigment blinding him. A woman threw a cauldron of boiling soup at another attacker. More dwarves appeared from nowhere and charged up the street, howling.

Who _were _these madmen? Were they King Bhelen's men? Disgruntled treasurer-seekers from Kal'Hirol? How had the Wardens pissed off so many _dwarves?_ A curious sensation tickled across the back of his neck, but Loghain pushed it aside. It was time to fight.

A dwarf rushed at him, axe swinging, eyes oddly glazed. Loghain caught the axe with his sword and twisted, pulling the dwarf off-balance. Darrow swung backhand, knocking the little bastard down. Topaz seized the dwarf by the face in her powerful jaws, and shook him, growling fearsomely. It did not last long, but there were more of them.

In a house further on, children were shrieking, thin voices wild with panic.

The dwarves were mobbing Evelina's little cottage, shouldering each other aside to push into the doorway. One reeled back, blood pumping from his throat. A pair of them were grey with a paralysis spell, and then red with death wounds. Out of the doorway shot spurts of magic, hot sparks of red and cold sparks of blue. The noise was greatest here: the clash of swords, Ranger and Onyx's angry barks, and Maude 's clear voice rallying her friends.

"Freeze them, Bethany! Evelina! Get the children up to the loft! Mairead! Take Gareth and go with her—"

Cutting high above the noise was a baby's anguished wail. _Gareth._

It was enough to throw a blood-red haze over everything in Loghain's path. A bellow resounded, echoing up and down the street, and Loghain, his boots pounding the earth, realized dimly that he had uttered it. He would kill every one of them…

"The blood of the Hawke!" screamed a dwarf. "I can taste it in the air!"

Loghain grabbed one of the dwarves by the neck, and threw him to the ground, where Topaz pinned him down. Surprised from behind, the dwarves were hacked, slashed, beheaded. Bethany, invisible in the press of bodies, shouted out a spell that hammered the rest into confusion. Loghain stumbled back, caught in the wash of the magic, but Kain and Darrow moved in and finished off the downed dwarves. Other spells were being cast, from the top of the loft steps. Evelina, Loghain supposed.

The leader of the dwarves had fallen to Maude's sword, but was still struggling and gobbling. Loghain blinked at the rage on his wife's face. She was flushed and wild-eyed, screaming incoherently as she began slamming the door into the dwarf's head. His helmet took the worst of the impact. Maude then kicked the helmet off and hit him with the door again. There was an awful crunching sound, and then another, wetter one.

"You want blood?" she shrieked. "How about this? How about this? Is this enough, you little shit?"

She hit the now-dead dwarf with the door one last time. Loghain grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

"Where's Gareth?" he demanded. She seemed beyond speech, but he had his answer from another source.

"Up here, my lord!" Mairead, her broad face white and scared, peered down from the loft. "He's fine. Are there more of those crazy dwarves?"

Maude was wiping furiously at her bloody armor, hissing with fury.

"I can't go to Gareth," she hissed, talking to herself. "I _can't_ go to Gareth like this…"

Loghain looked up and down the street. A few of the dwarves were sprawled in the muck. Most were on or near the cottage's threshold. The attack had been concentrated here, focused on Evelina's house. Why?

The children were sobbing in the loft. Sobbing or sniveling or begging to be told what was happening. It was enough to drive anyone mad, even someone better balanced than Maude.

"Stay up there for now!" he shouted back. "We'll make sure we've got them all."

Bethany stared down at the body of the dead dwarf, her face twisted in disgust. She whispered, "I felt...a connection... I think. Is that…a Warden?"

"No." Maude snarled, and gave the shattered head another savage kick. "It's a ghoul. Look, we'll clean up here. The children can't come down and touch this. We need to char any blood. It's Tainted."

"One of them's alive, ser," Kain announced, dragging out a stunned dwarf from under the pile. The dwarf's head lolled. Darrow forced back an eyelid. The eye was grey and filmy, a clear indication of Taint.

Kain looked closer. "So that's a ghoul. Ugly bugger, ain't he?"

"He'll look worse when I've done with him," Loghain growled. "You and Darrow get him out of sight in the grove nearby. Tie him up, and start moving the corpses out of the village. We'll have a long talk with the prisoner when we're finished righting this place. Keep him alive, but don't let him get away."

The two big men frog-marched the dwarf ghoul away, while Evelina and the maids tried to quiet the children. Gareth's wails subsided, soothed by Mairead. Maude pounded the door frame in rage, unable to go him in her current bloody condition.

"Stay up there," Bethany called to Evelina. "We don't want the children to see all this."

Some of them were looking, though: huge, curious child-eyes peering down from the loft. A few of the bigger boys begged Evelina to let them go down and help.

"No!" Loghain commanded. "You boys! Keep the little ones up there! Anyone who comes down before I say so will answer to me."

Apparently, nobody wanted to answer to him. There was a brief hush upstairs, then very small noises, like mice in a cupboard. Loghain grunted, satisfied with his threats, and turned to deal with the aftermath outside.

People were coming out of their houses and shops, wanting to know what was happening. The dyer, grinning, was pointing out one the bodies...the blue and yellow one he had felled.

"Mercenaries," Maude told them, her manic stage over, now assuming a very calm and superior expression. "Dwarven mercenaries. It looks like they attacked the wrong village."

This raised some uncertain laughter. Maude seized on that.

"It's why we're building the watchtower," she assured them. "Once that's in place, nobody will be about to sneak up on you even again."

"The Watch Captain is expected here in the next day or so," Loghain added, supporting his wife even when she was lying like a rug. "And now, we'll find out from the prisoner whose company these dwarves are from, and we'll send the leader a message he won't soon forget!"

"We'll clean up the bodies," Maude promised. "Don't touch them or the blood either. They might have brought foreign diseases with them. If you see any bits, show them to us and we'll burn them."

Bethany whispered to Loghain, "You're not going to tell anybody that they're ghouls?"

"We don't want to create a panic," he whispered back. "We'll clean the place thoroughly. A mercenary attack is quite bad enough. We'll burn the bodies at some distance from the village."

The eight dead dwarves were hauled away, and all traces of blood purified. It was an annoying, time-consuming job. Kain and Darrow had tied up the prisoner very securely, and came to help. A barren, rocky spot was cleared for a make-shift pyre, and the corpses were piled there.

"You know," Maude said bitterly, dumping a bandy-legged body on top of his fellows. "I had about a million things to do today, and one of them I had _not _planned was cleaning up after ghouls. Nasty little bastards."

"Who sent them?" Bethany wondered, scrubbing the blood from the hem of her clothes. "I didn't know ghouls would attack…"

Loghain had never heard of such a thing, either, and from the distracted, furious expression on Maude's face, it was clear it was news to her, too. It was time for some answers. They surrounded the prisoner and suggested he start talking.

The dwarf was mostly off his head. He slobbered and gibbered, and the Taint had taken whatever sense he had ever possessed, but in the end they had the story. The dwarves had come for Bethany, "the blood of the Hawke." Not to kill her, but to carry her off with them. Bethany, understandably found the idea quite horrifying.

Nor was the "Hawke" in question her warrior brother. These crazy dwarves were looking for descendants of Malcolm Hawke, the deceased father of Bethany and Adam. Malcolm Hawke had been a mage, and a powerful one, and had been involved in some very, very dodgy business before his children were born.

"I can't believe that Father would have anything to do with such people!" Bethany insisted, angry and afraid.

The dwarf kept staring at her in a disturbingly hungry way. Darrow punched his head, and turned him around, facing away from the young mage.

"What do you need this blood for?" Maude asked, with poisonous sweetness.

"For Corypheus. It will free him from his prison!"

"Who's Corypheus?" Darrow wondered. He appealed to Loghain. "Sounds foreign, don't it?"

This was a very complicated story indeed. These dwarves were part of a cult that worshiped…or adored…or were possessed by the power of some being called Corypheus. This creature was trapped in a secret prison in the Vimmark Mountains near Kirkwall: a prison devised by…the Grey Wardens.

"Grey Wardens!" Maude shouted. "Just when I think I know how fucked-up this order is, I'm proven wrong! What? We've got a prison full of demons…no…not a demon…It's another fucking talking darkspawn, isn't it? Maker's smelly shit!"

"Maude…" Loghain put a heavy hand on her shoulder. Was he surprised? Not much. A little stunned at the breadth of the deceptions practiced by the order. He had never, in any communication from the Wardens, heard of any such place. That did not mean it did not exist. Why could the Wardens never tell their own people what they were up to? Who was guarding the bloody place?

From the dwarf's account, no one. There were magical barriers in place, but clearly they were defective. The ghoul was so far gone that he made no attempt to conceal the numbers of the cult of Corypheus, nor did he shrink from describing the prison and the outer fortress. When asked why they had attacked at this particularly time, he gave an answer particularly painful to Bethany.

"Word came from Kirkwall of the name Hawke. A woman was murdered…a woman by the name of Hawke. Rumor spread and told us that there were two children…the children of Malcolm Hawke…"

"Adam!" Bethany cried. "He's in danger!" Maude put her arm around her shoulders.

"We must have the blood of the Hawke," the ghoul muttered. "More will come to find this one."

"You won't be with them." Loghain cut the head off cleanly, the Keening Blade singing in perfect content.

The body and its disassociated head were added to the pile, and Bethany grimly set fire to it. A quick, very _hot_ fire. The smoke rose up blackly, and the breeze bore it inland, away from the village.

They were going to have to do something about this situation, obviously.

"I've got to go to Gareth," Maude said. "I've got to do that first. Then we'll go home and figure out what's next."

They marched back through the village, cheerfully waving and smiling, accepting the plaudits of the blissfully ignorant populace. Maude, sharp-eyed as always, found a few fingers and some teeth, and tucked them away for safe disposal later on. They duly returned to the cottage, which Loghain noted would need some repair to the door and doorframe. The charred threshold would have to be replaced as well. He'd leave an order for a carpenter to see to it.

Evelina was the most composed of the women inside. She managed a tight smile at their appearance, and led the children downstairs. The older boys swaggered a little, to prove that had never been scared...much. The rest of the children crept after them, clinging to the walls. Mairead was shaking, and Clerys almost too terrified to walk.

Gareth began wailing again, ready for his elevenses. He was hungry and disconsolate and very, very noisy. Maude, with Bethany and Loghain's assistance, hastily got cleaned up enough that she could safely hold and feed the baby in Evelina's tiny bedroom.

"We'll have to go to Kirkwall," Loghain said slowly. There was really no question about it. "We'll have to look into this. Tantervale may have jurisdiction, but I couldn't care less. These creatures attacked us. I'll assign Wardens to guard the village until Tarren and her lads come, and I'll organize the expedition. We should be able to leave in two or three days."

"I have to go," Bethany said quickly. "I'm the one they're after. If I'm not here, they won't trouble these people again. I wish we could send a message to Adam. Those ghouls will be after him, too...if they haven't attacked him already."

Loghain gave her a nod. "Certainly you'll go. And perhaps your cousin would like to see Kirkwall again. Another mage would be useful."

"I've_ got_ to go," Maude spoke up. She clutched Gareth to her breast almost desperately. Loghain had never seen her looking more miserable. "I have to go, and kill every last one of those lunatics. If I don't go, I really and truly will lose my mind. We'll find a wetnurse for Gareth, and leave him with Fergus and Cauthrien. He'll be safe with them."

Loghain grimaced, but did not disagree. Where there were ghouls, there would be darkspawn, and no one in Thedas killed darkspawn better than Maude. They could not take Gareth away from Ferelden and into danger with them. That said, his son could not have a better protector than Cauthrien.

They would send a message to the captain of the _Wild Wyvern_ to prepare for a voyage across the Waking Sea. They would arrange for the safety of their people, they would pack their gear, and very soon they would be on their way.

To a foreign land.

* * *

Were the situation not so desperate, he would never have considered it. The thought of leaving Ferelden soil made Loghain queasy. This was his homeland: he drew his strength from it. He had never had the least desire to fritter away his time in idle travel to filthy foreign lands, eating filthy foreign food and listening to pointless foreign chatter. Amongst _foreigners._

That said, he was not going to wait for another attack. Maude was right: the only way to deal with this bizarre cult was to wipe them out.

Sergeant Tarren, with her party of five and their associated families and impedimenta, duly appeared the day after the attack, and were quickly briefed on the situation. Tarren's mission was clear: protect the village with Warden assistance as needed; continue work on the watchtower, and keep the peace amongst the villagers. Ultimately, the Watch would be housed in the new tower. Until then, they had rooms at the War Dog Inn. With that settled, Loghain could concentrate on embarking as soon as possible...first to Highever, and then across the sea to Kirkwall.

He could not take all the Wardens, obviously, but he would take a strong party.

Bethany must come with them, of course: her cousin Ambrose, too, with his personal interest in defending his cousin, and a certain curiosity about seeing Kirkwall again. Darrow and Kain, faithful as mabari and just as useful, could not be left behind. Oghren, hungry for "real action," as he put it, and finding even limited domesticity unbearable, begged to go along. Valentine, who knew the Free Marches well, would come, too.

There was an additional reason to bring Valentine. He was from Tantervale, and the Wardens of Tantervale had nominal authority over Kirkwall. As soon as Loghain returned to the Peak, Valentine and Telamon were called to the War Room and mercilessly grilled about the existence of this so-called "Warden Prison." Both swore that they had never heard of any such place.

"That, of course," Maude pointed out, "doesn't mean it doesn't exist. The Wardens can't tell their own people the truth to save their lives. Literally."

While they made ready for the journey, they also wrote letters. There were letters to Alistair and Anora that would not be sent anytime soon, but were there to be read if necessary. A far more urgent and angry missive was prepared for the Warden-Commander of Tantervale, holding him responsible for the attack on Ferelden soil.

The Glavonaks, uncles and nephew, would not be traveling with them, but worked without meals or sleep to provide them with bombs and grenades to add to their armament. Maude particularly appreciated their efforts.

"A prison," she explained, sprawling in her accustomed chair in the War Room, "is by nature a place with thick walls and inconveniently heavy doors. We will want to get through them. If I can't pick the locks, then I can blow them up. It's very satisfactory to have a backup plan."

She also insisted they take at least three fairly new junior Wardens. "It's good for them. It's like…succession planning. Today's youth should have the opportunity to experience scary adventures…to meet strange and unfamiliar forms of life and learn how to kill them. It's a very broadening experience."

That was true. To Loghain's surprise, he found there was a quite a bit of interest in the Kirkwall expedition, and a number of volunteers. While he hoped for some archers, he finally left it to a lottery, for all the applicants had things to recommend them.

He found himself with Thenyra, a young Dalish archer; another archer in Hereward, who came from Waking Sea bannorn; and to his great satisfaction, big and brawny Osbeck, who had always wanted see more of the world. Loghain was rather pleased with the results, and the disappointed applicants were appeased by the plans drawn up for Sigrun to lead an expedition into the Angmarrack Road within the next month. No Warden knew that part of the Deep Roads better than Sigrun, since she had traveled it with the Legion of the Dead all the way from Orzammar to Kal'Hirol.

Just as they though the plans were going well, Morrigan presented herself before them in the War Room.

"I am relieved," she declared, "that you are not taking me on this adventure to see yet another squalid underground warren."

Maude seemed concerned that her friend's feathers might be ruffled, and set about smoothing them. "We know you hate the Deep Roads. This is very likely going to be just as nasty. Besides, we can't strip the Wardens of all the mages, and Bethany _must _go. Ambrose is fond of her, and has family ties, and then there is the Flemeth situation—"

"I am not complaining!" Morrigan broke in sharply. She drew herself up with great dignity. "I certainly do not wish to be on the same side of the Waking Sea as Flemeth! However, if I remain here, I will no doubt be dragged along with Sigrun into an equally disagreeable place. It occurred to me that I might be of use elsewhere, in a situation far more satisfactory to _me."_

Loghain narrowed his eyes, wondering what she wanted. "Go on."

"I wish," Morrigan said haughtily, "to go to Highever. While I have no doubt that the noble Teyrn and Teyrna would defend the child—" Morrigan always referred to Gareth as "the child"—"with their lives, one cannot be too careful. I could go, perhaps with one or two other Wardens, on the pretext of searching for a rumored entrance to the Deep Roads somewhere near Highever. To satisfy the bigots, you could give out that one of the other Wardens was the _leader…"_ The word was larded with contempt. "…and that I was with them in the capacity of scribe, to collate their findings. I would thus be in the castle most of the time, and if there were any difficulties—for there are many who no doubt find the child's existent inconvenient—he would have more formidable protection than idle good wishes and mere swords."

Maude gazed on her, broke into a beautiful smile, and walked over to embrace the witch. Loghain felt a bit like embracing her himself, but Maude might not quite understand.

"Morrigan! What a kind, sensible plan! You are a true friend!"

Morrigan nearly returned the hug, but then looked unspeakably embarrassed and patted Maude awkwardly instead. "'Twas not my intent to make a ridiculous scene. 'Tis simply rational! I do not entirely trust…" Her eyes slid to Loghain, and she pursed her lips. "…anyone." Then, defiantly, she added, "Including crowned, cheese-eating fools."

It was perfectly obvious that Morrigan was really speaking of Anora, who, to be perfectly candid, Loghain did not entirely trust either. He did not think his daughter would directly harm Gareth, but she might take it into her head to have him brought to Denerim, where there could indeed be individuals who might imagine that putting the Queen's little brother aside might please her. It was not like Anora would pay him even as much attention as she did Rhoswyn.

"Besides," Morrigan tossed her head to prove her utter indifference to sentiment. "There are a number of books in the Highever library that intrigued me on our brief visit, and that I wish to have time to study in their entirety. I shall find the holiday very agreeable."

"Won't you miss Anders?" Maude asked carefully.

Morrigan's yellow eyes flashed like summer lightning. "He is not my husband, nor am I his bond-slave. I can go where I like and do as I please," She sneered. "I shall pack my gowns and be ready to sail with the rest of you!" She swept out, Loghain swore, more impressively than any queen.

Maude bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

"Anders must have proposed marriage again. It always puts her in a snit. She doesn't want to be 'bound down.' She thinks it's horrible. I think she wants to teach him a lesson about attempting to 'proscribe her freedoms by referencing patriarchal conventions of female subservience.' Of course I think a lot of that is Flemeth talking. No doubt whatever she told Morrigan about life with Bann Conobar Elstan was enough to put anybody off marriage forever."

Loghain thought Maude was probably right. Then too, it was very comforting to have all that magical power watching over his son. "I'll send two of the newest recruits with her, and she can order them about as she likes. People will just have to get used to the idea of mages leading Warden patrols. Besides, no one would believe that anyone, other than the two of us, could command Morrigan."

* * *

Their stop in Highever was very brief and very distressing, particularly for Maude. Loghain told Fergus and Cauthrien what had happened, and what they knew about this bizarre cult, which was not much, other than that they would be back if they were not destroyed.

Morrigan was greeted in a very friendly way by Fergus, who clearly thought she was a damned fine woman; and politely by Cauthrien, who understood how useful in a fight Morrigan could prove. Morrigan and her assistants were given pleasant accommodations, in the corridor outside the family quarters. The cover story, that the Wardens were investigating a possible Deep Roads entrance in Highever, was told to the Teyrn and his Teyrna.

"A lie, of course," Loghain explained. "Nothing on our maps indicates that there is any access to the Deep Roads in all Highever, but it's a reason for Morrigan to be here."

"I hope to make good use of your library, nonetheless," Morrigan remarked.

Fergus gave her a courteous bow. "By all means."

Cauthrien was very interested in Gareth: far more so than in hearing the story of the dwarven ghouls. She smiled, uncommonly relaxed and cheerful, and delighted in pointing out how much Gareth resembled his father.

That was enough to get a slight smile from Maude, unhappy as she was.

"The King noticed it too. He told the queen that Gareth scowls just like Loghain!"

Fergus' old room was being used as the nursery. Little Caradoc was sitting up now, and was very inquisitive about the new little addition. Maude picked up her nephew and looked him over with some excitement.

"He has Father's grey eyes and Mother's pointed chin! What a sweet boy!"

Caradoc, for a lad who had raised such a noise at his naming, seemed a good-tempered baby. If nothing else, Gareth would be among friends and family, and his ties to them could only be strengthened by this situation.

When the next morning dawned, and it came to actually leaving Gareth, Maude burst into tears. Loghain wondered if he should encourage her to stay, but the storm passed, and Fergus hugged his sister, while Cauthrien reassured her.

"I have more milk than Caradoc wants," Cauthrien said, a rock of calm certainty. "And if Gareth needs more, we'll hire a wetnurse. Highever is full of nursing mothers. It's no trouble _at all."_

"If the King and Queen want Gareth brought to Denerim, don't let them have him," Maude said bluntly, wiping her face. "Lie to them; make up anything you like. I don't want them getting their hands on Gareth. Alistair will feed him stinky cheese, and Anora will expect him to sit on the Council."

Fergus shot Loghain a concerned look. Loghain said, "We would very much prefer that Gareth stay with his aunt and uncle. And we don't expect to be gone very long."

"Onyx will stay, too," said Maude. " He loves Gareth, and he'll be company for Ears."

Cauthrien's mabari seemed quite all right with the presence of her littermate. Two mabaris would in themselves provide formidable protection for the children.

How long would they be gone abroad? Loghain had no idea. They had to find this "secret prison," and then find a way in. They had to kill lunatic dwarven ghouls, and some sort of talking darkspawn. They would be in a place that was not Ferelden. It was all going to be very disagreeable.

* * *

This time, they sailed out of sight of land. Loghain found that alone to be disturbing. He knew there was land on the other side of the Waking Sea, but he had never seen it for himself. Maude had, and he supposed he would have to trust her. The ship was not moving at its best speed in the warm and languid breeze. Nonetheless, they could expect to be in Kirkwall the following day.

In the late afternoon, they saw a sail on the horizon. This grew in size, and became a galley closing in on them. Captain Winters alerted the Wardens and the crew, and they stood ready to repel boarders. Maude brightened considerably at the prospect, bouncing on the balls of her feet, fingering her sword, looking forward to swinging onto the enemy ship on a rope. Loghain thought that idea ridiculously flamboyant, when having the mages launch fireballs would be a far more workmanlike tactic.

However, nothing came of it. The ship came close enough to see their Grey Warden standard, and then abruptly veered off.

"Chickenshits," Maude sulked, pounding the rail. "Come back here, you cowards!"

Ambrose laughed. "Well, it _would_ be incredibly stupid to pick a fight with Grey Wardens. No guarantee of plunder, and a strong likelihood of death! Besides," he turned to Maude, grinning. "Word is probably out who owns this ship."

Loghain snorted, amused in spite of himself.

Maude made a face, still disappointed. "I wanted to say 'Arrrrgh!"

* * *

A red sunset glowed in the sky and sea, and the darkening firmament revealed a dome of stars; stars subtly shifted from the positions Loghain had always known. Clavius the Spike, the Southern Star, was lower in the sky, its blue-white glory somewhat dimmed; part of the Plough had fallen out of sight. This was contrary to all good order, but there was little Loghain could do about the heavens, even if he thought them poorly arranged in these foreign latitudes.

"Look, Loghain!" murmured Maude, coming up beside him, and laying a gentle hand on his forearm. "To the north, just above the horizon. That's Bellator. In the old tales, its rising was the signal for the Tevinter archons to launch their spring campaigns. How red it looks!"

Over time, Loghain had read and heard many references to the Warrior Star, but he had never seen it for himself. It was not visible in Ferelden. Here, one could just see it, resting on the sea, a bright point of orange-red, flickering balefully. They were headed straight for it. That struck Loghain as rather ominous.

"Is it really a proper star?" he wondered. "Stars are white or sometimes yellow. I've never seen any_ that_ color."

"It's a _northern_ star," Maude said. "Languages and food are different in the north. It only makes sense that their stars are different, too. Though that's the only one that's supposed to be that vivid red. That's why the Tevinters of old made a big deal about it, I suppose."

She looked uncomfortable, with her arms folded across her chest.

"Are you all right?"

"Not at all," she confessed. "I'm missing Gareth horribly, and my breasts _hurt._ If I felt any worse, I'd moo like an unmilked cow!"

That was something he could deal with, and he carried her off to their comfortable little cabin, to lick her wounds, so to speak. She was much happier afterwards.

By the following afternoon, they saw land due north: a scattering of rocky little islands, and behind them a dull gray haze.

"The Wounded Coast," Maude told Loghain, pointing.

"Are the islands inhabited?"

"By goats. My pirate friend Isabela told me that there's no safe anchorage by most of them, and no fresh water to speak of. And only bandits or worse inhabit the Coast itself. A lot of Tal-Vashoth who deserted the Arishok's forces hid there after the shipwreck. All in all, it's a very nasty place, and the Viscount's done nothing to keep the peace out there. Occasionally the city guard sends out a patrol, but not often enough to really make the Coast Road safe. It's great for the ship owners, though. The only possible trading routes to Cumberland or Ostwick are all by sea. Maybe they've paid off the Viscount, but I think it's just his usual incompetence."

They ate a hearty breakfast: porridge with honey, bread and sausage and cheese, and cider to drink. Then they all accoutered themselves in their finest and most official garb. Loghain and Maude had their Archdemon armor, and even the newest recruits had good griffon-embroidered tunics. They were here as Grey Wardens. They were here to complete their mission and go home as soon as possible. Loghain wanted no interference from Viscount, Chantry, Qunari, or city guard.

Shadows fell on them as they entered the mouth of the harbor: the huge fissure in the cliffs, made by magic long ago, when Kirkwall was called Emerius. Lining the stone bluffs on either side were the colossal bronze statues of slaves: anguished, tortured, smothering their wails into their enormous hands. Loghain felt ill, as he always did when he remembered the worst thing he had ever done.

It had made perfect sense at the time to sell the elves to the Tevinters. Caladrius had been so persuasive; Howe had seemed so reasonable. Loghain had felt he was only doing what was necessary, and the best and safest thing for the elves themselves.

Now, of course, it appeared to him to have been a kind of madness, and Howe had been as mad as Loghain himself. It was a shame and a disgrace, and it could never be undone, but Loghain often puzzled over it. Now these terrible images recalled his own dishonor.

He could not help those innocents he had harmed; but he had resolved to treat elves with respect, and to deal in future with any slavers in a summary fashion. It was best not even to speak to them. And he certainly did not want to talk about his own dealings in the trade.

The cliffs towered over them. The forts on the heights seemed formidable and impressively equipped. Loghain wondered if he could inspect them during this visit. How had the Qunari penetrated into the inner harbor? The Kirkwallers should have been able to repel the Imperial fleet itself.

The water grew still, and the scene enlarged: before them were the docks, and behind them hulking towers and fortifications. Kirkwall was not only old: it was _big._ Far bigger than Denerim, certainly, especially if one included Darktown, the underground warrens below the city proper.

Bethany joined them on the port side, looking very impressive in her mail-and-leather armor embossed with the griffon sigil.

"That the Gallows," she told Loghain. "And that part of it—" She jerked her chin, a frown creasing her brow. "—is where they lock up the mages."

"Nobody's going to bother you," Maude promised. "You or Ambrose, either. Let Knight-Commander Meredith just try it. Useless cow."

Bethany shook her head. "She's very good at grinding down the mages she has under lock and key. Perhaps she's not good for much else, but she can do _that."_

Loghain sensed her fear. "No Templar has any right to hinder you, trouble you, or accost you. If one does, we'll deal with the situation."

Bethany bit her lip. "This isn't Ferelden, you know."

"I do know," Loghain growled. "These aren't my fellow countrymen. I don't owe them anything."

"That is so true!" Maude agreed, pleased at the idea. "Except for our friends and relations. That's a separate matter. Oh, look! People are pointing at us. They must have seen the Grey Warden emblem and the Fereldan pennant below it. And they have spyglasses trained on us. Somebody will go tattling to the Viscount, I daresay. He'll probably want to talk to us."

"I don't want to talk to _him,"_ Loghain grunted.

"It's his sandbox," Maude pointed out. "We'll have to play nicely. Maybe we'll get a free dinner out of it."

It took some time to dock. The Wardens crowded to the rail to see the sights. By the time they were settling into their berth, a very large crowd had gathered, gawking and pointing impudently at the _Wild Wyvern._ There were vendors moving through the crowd, crying their wares.

"Are those rats on sticks?" Loghain asked. "I'm not going to eat those."

"It's chicken," Maude assured him. "Chicken...parts." She shrugged. "Mostly."

"Some of them _are _rats," Bethany said darkly. "Poor people in Kirkwall eat rats all the time."

Valentine said, "I'm told they're not bad with hot sauce."

"Loghain doesn't eat spicy food," Maude whispered. "It's not _Fereldan."_

"Is this some sort of festival in Kirkwall?" Loghain wondered, pointedly ignoring Maude's remark. "Why is this mob here?"

Bethany laughed. "They're here to see _you,_ Loghain! You're _famous,_ you know. Dragonslayer, Hero, Living Legend, and all that. Everybody's heard about the Archdemon armor, and quite of few of them must have recognized Maude already. It's perfectly obvious who you are."

Loghain grimaced, and put on his helmet, hoping to hide his bemusement. Why would foreigners be interested in him? He was not at all interested in them.

A big, handsome man, a mabari at his heels, was shoving through the press, waving at the ship. With him were some others, also pushing people out of their way: a brawny dwarf in a long leather coat; an uncommonly tall elf, wearing a greatsword on his back; and a raffishly good-looking human woman, whose dark skin proclaimed her a Rivainni.

"Adam!" Bethany shrieked. She grabbed Ambrose's arm. "It's Adam! He's all right!"

"Which one's Adam, now?" Ambrose asked, deadpan. "The dwarf or the elf? Ow!"

"Don't tease," Bethany elbowed him again. "That's your cousin. My brother Adam Hawke. That's Fenris, and that's Isabela, and that's—"

_"Varric!"_ Maude called, waving madly.

_"Princess!"_ The dwarf grinned, arms flung wide in welcome.

Loghain scowled. More of Maude's _friends._ Well, he had survived Maude's friends before, in the days of the Blight. He supposed he could survive this motley crew as well.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Tyanilth, Enaid Aderyn, Phygmalion, EpitomyofShyness, Tikigod784, sizuka2, KnightOfHolyLight, Jyggilag, ByLanternLight, Judy, Rexiselic, anon, Zute, hyperfuzzy, Isabeau of Greenlea, Granoc , Jenna53, Josie Lange, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, tgcgoddess, JackOfBladesX, kdarnell2, mille libri, Shakespira, Mike3207, Kira Kyuu, sn0w0wl, Angurvddel, Tsu Doh Nimh, maudlinsarcasma, Psyche Sinclar, mastigo._


	46. Spies Like Us

**The Keening Blade**

**_Note: Sections of this chapter are lifted from the Legacy DLC. Thank you, Bioware._  
**

**Chapter 46: Spies Like Us  
**

The houses in Kirkwall were a disgrace. Loghain shook his head at the overconfident stupidity of the city. Maude's bosom friend Varric had put them up in the mansion that had belonged to his late brother. It was very large—even palatial—and easily accommodated their party, but Loghain was astonished to find that it was utterly indefensible. It had no gate, no wall, no arrow slits, no proper defenses of any kind. other than an elaborate front door. There was a back door that was not quite as sturdy, and then there was a maze of cellars underneath the mansion that Varric informed him had a secret exit to Darktown. Loghain scoffed at that: "secret" exits rarely were. The house had big windows, too: windows large enough for an enemy to squeeze through easily after smashing them. Moreover, the place was full of decadent upholstered furniture and soft beds and finicking vases and _knickknacks._ And it smelled funny. Like the rest of Kirkwall.

Not wanting to seem impressed, like some country bumpkin, Loghain kept his face impassive whenever he was shown something new and unusual. Perhaps it was childish, but he could not bear to give more fuel to these degenerate Marchers who called Fereldans "Dog Lords."

Alas, his own people were no help at all. They gaped and pointed at the paved streets and tall buildings: at the public monuments and galleries of elegant shops. They chattered in excitement at the fine clothes of the rich. They thought the rats-on-sticks—or what the Kirkwallers _claimed _were chicken-parts-on-sticks—were delicious. Especially with spicy sauce. Darrow and Kain, the traitors, were enjoying themselves, and had somehow found time to visit a place called the Blooming Rose, which Maude informed him was the finest brothel in Kirkwall. They had not been alone, either. Osbeck was taking this great city in stride, evidently feeling himself a man of the world, now that he had crossed the sea.

Of course, not everyone was necessarily relishing this introduction to civilization. Some of their people, notably the Dalish girl Thanyra and young Hereward, had never been in any place larger than Breaker's Cove. The sheer size of Kirkwall intimidated them. Thanyra drooped, and Hereward's jaw appeared to be permanently unhinged with wonder.

No one who did not know Maude would imagine her to be in anything other than the highest spirits: pleased to see her Marcher friends; eager for the adventure before her. In private, though, she was unhappy to leave Gareth, and angry at the circumstances that had forced them to come to Kirkwall. She was very demanding in the velvet solitude of the mansion's bedchamber, and afterwards expressed her concerns and suspicions to Loghain.

"Anders said that if I can get back within a month, there's a potion that will make me able to nurse Gareth again. I hope so. I'd hate to stand by and witness some complete stranger feeding my darling boy. This whole mess is obviously a Grey Warden cock-up of some sort. 'A Warden prison?' Who's guarding it? Why don't our Marcher-born Wardens know about it? You remember when we talked about capturing a darkspawn to learn more about it? I wonder if this isn't something of the sort, only fucked up, as usual. Ultimately, Weisshaupt is to blame for lack of oversight. I can't even accuse them of deliberate spite, just stupidity. And because of other peoples' incompetence here we are in tiresome Kirkwall. What do you think of it, really?"

"It's big. And rich," he grunted, "but I wouldn't have been sorry never to have seen it. I suppose it's interesting."

It really was, actually, if only as an example of how not to run a city. Beyond the size and wealth, there were definite signs of decline. Loghain considered them all with contemptuous pleasure: the unrepaired stonework; the complete disregard for law and order; the hungry, resentful faces of the poor; the feeble, emasculated nobles; the occasional Qunari, aloof and disdainful, shouldering aside the other races.

Loghain reckoned that he could take Kirkwall with fifty picked troops. The city had no army at all: only an undermanned and underfunded city guard, constantly engaged in crisis management. The only real opposition would come from the Qunari compound (though he had already thought through how to deal with them in a prompt and proactive fashion) and from the Templars. The Templars, however, might not offer any opposition at all, as long as the Chantry was offered no offense.

That was the nasty, unspoken secret of Kirkwall. It was run by the Chantry for the Chantry, because it certainly wasn't bloody run for the benefit of anyone else. Crime was brazen, organized, and rampant. Half of the population appeared to live like rats in the underground maze of Darktown. The better-off common folk lived in Lowtown, which was crumbling before everyone's eyes. The rich and self-proclaimed "nobles" led pampered lives in their ridiculous, vulnerable, overly luxurious mansions in Hightown. Something was rotten in the city of Kirkwall. No. Wait. Pretty much _everything_ was rotten in the city of Kirkwall.

To his annoyance, he and Maude were obliged to attend a dinner with the Viscount and his parasites. Twittering buffoons. Loghain made clear that he was in Kirkwall on Grey Warden business, and was not here to socialize. Still, he had to eat, and didn't mind if the Kirkwallers paid for it. It turned out to be a huge affair. With entertainment and speeches. Long ones.

"People want to _see_ you, Loghain," Maude told him, smoothing his black and silver doublet. "You are _world-famous_. People wanted to see _me_ because of you, and so naturally they want to see you even more. Varric told me that the Viscount's seneschal has made a fortune selling dinner invitations."

Everyone at dinner stared at him as if he were some dangerous but exciting wild beast. Loghain wondered if they expected him to kill a dragon or ravish their women. Some of the women looked fairly willing. One blonde was licking her fingers and making eyes at him.

"That's Fifi de Launcet," Maude whispered, "Nathaniel's sister-in-law. She's a complete tart. Her mother Dulci is looking you over, too. Go on, glare at them! Give them a thrill!"

The food was not bad, though Loghain was unfamiliar with some of it. There was some giggling and whispering, and he supposed the useless fops were unsettled by his table manners and by his not knowing which of the peculiar implements by his plate he was supposed to use. He refused to be bothered by them, and ate heartily, careful to wipe his hands on the tablecloth, rather than on his velvet doublet. There were more whispers, and he noticed some of the men eating with their hands as he was, looking about as if they were doing something dashing and forbidden and romantic. Tools.

He could practically see the puppet strings attached to the Viscount. The man was owned, body and soul, by the Chantry, and pretended he was not. Loghain despised him. It was no longer surprising to him that the man's son did, as well. Even if the Chantry had put him in office, Loghain could think of all sorts of ways he himself could have thrown off their control by now, and Loghain knew that he was a hopelessly incompetent politician.

The Viscount asked Loghain to see him when he was back from his mission to the Vimmarks. Loghain had no idea what the man wanted with him. Perhaps he wished to borrow a bit of backbone? He could certainly use it.

"You haven't met Knight-Commander Meredith yet," Maude said sagely, eyes bright over her wine cup. "That's her over there. Nothing in this town makes any sense without Meredith."

"Nothing in this town makes any sense at all."

* * *

And Kirkwall ale was piss. The day after the ghastly dinner, Maude took him to that disreputable tavern she liked, The Hanged Man, probably because people were constantly trying to kill each other there. Loghain wondered why they couldn't plan the mission in the dwarf's house, or Hawke's house, or the Lowtown Market, for that matter, since everyone in the tavern was leaning in, listening breathlessly.

"I like it here, Loghain," Maude told him earnestly. "and I was certain that you would like it better than the taverns in Hightown. They're full of Orlesian accents and foreign spies."

"This place is full of foreign spies too," he snorted, jerking his chin at a shifty pair in the corner.

"I suppose it is. Spies like us, for that matter!"

Loghain scowled in thought, trying to come to terms with the concept of himself as a "foreign spy." It was disturbingly accurate. He really was a foreigner here. And he certainly intended to spy out everything he possibly could. He had met the infamous Meredith Stannard now, and while he guessed that she was fairly handy with a sword, he felt he had her measure: she was was a closed-minded fanatic, ruled utterly by her fear of magic. She was not particularly intelligent, either. She could see the world in only one way, and was not interested in information that might upset her worldview. She was the true ruler of Kirkwall, but did not care about its serious unemployment issues, its trade agreements, or its foreign policy, or even that it was in mortal peril from a large force of Qunari: she cared only that mages remained under her thumb. No wonder the city was falling apart.

Bethany was happy to see her brother. That was the one good thing about the visit so far. They had briefly visited the family home, and Hawke had given Bethany some family heirlooms, mostly jewelry. The Hawke mansion was smaller than Varric's, but Loghain rather approved of it for that reason. There was plenty of room to live in, and it had a library that overlooked the entry hall that would a good place to position archers.

They were gathered to plan; to share their intelligence and settle on numbers and supplies. Adam Hawke would accompany the Wardens to the Vimmark Mountains, to this mysterious 'Wardens' Prison,' along with some of his associates. Maude had gently pointed out to them the dangers of venturing into any place so obviously Tainted, and reminded them of Bethany's forced Joining. Naturally, none of the idiots believed it could happen to them. Perhaps it would not. After all, in his youth Loghain himself had traveled the Deep Roads from West Hill to Gwaren without taking harm from it.

Those associates were gathered rowdily at the end of the long table. Loghain considered them. Outcasts and drifters, but none the less useful for all that. The most respectable of them that Maude had met would not be coming with them. Guard Captain Aveline had commitments and duties in Kirkwall; and as Loghain considered her a deserter from the Fereldan army, and as Aveline apparently considered Loghain a regicide, perhaps it was best that they not meet. The people Hawke_ could_ bring with him, however, were interesting.

The Dalish girl, Merrill, was a mage, and a powerful one, he was assured, but no sort of Healer at all. She looked to Loghain as if a stiff breeze would blow her away. Their own Dalish elf, Thanyra, had latched on to her gratefully, and they were chatting about bloodlines connecting their clans. Thanyra's clan was extinct, of course, save for her and the other elf who had joined with her, but history mattered to the Dalish.

Maude thought well of the tall elf's swordsmanship. Fenris. That was the name. An escaped slave from Tevinter, and magically tattooed with lyrium. It was certainly distinctive. The elf had the virtue of being able to hold his tongue, and merely eyed everyone else, quietly brooding. Loghain didn't mind brooding: he brooded quite a bit himself.

The other woman among them was the Rivainni named Isabela. She was "between ships," as she put it. She had captained a trader, but Maude had previously explained to Loghain that "trader" meant "pirate" in Rivain. Maude had met the woman in Denerim during the Blight when Isabela was doing a spot of smuggling, and Maude said she was gifted with a blade. Loghain considered that high praise. She was a good-looking woman, too, who had the impudence to give him a wink while squeezing Adam Hawke's bulging bicep in a very possessive way. It seemed that the two of them were lovers. Maude whispered that the Rivainni woman was too independent-minded to move into Hawke's Hightown mansion with him, and preferred life here in the Hanged Man.

Loghain considered Adam Hawke. Did he like Bethany's brother? He was not sure. Hawke moved like a man who could handle himself, and he seemed genuinely fond of his sister and genuinely glad to see her again. Still, he was an adventurer who had abandoned Ferelden; a man on the make; a little too handsome and a little too slick. He was carefully respectful toward Loghain, however. Maude seemed to like him well enough, but there was nothing there to cause Loghain any jealousy. She was far better friends with the voluble Varric.

Did he like Varric, for that matter? It was rather odd, watching Maude and the dwarf gossiping over their springbows and exchanging glorious lies of battle. Maude had had a large circle of friends during the Blight, but most of them had drifted away afterwards—probably because of her marriage to Loghain. Of all that lot, only Morrigan and Oghren had remained faithful, and Oghren was drunk most of the time. Seeing Maude's delight in chattering with Varric, Loghain was reminded of how she had enjoyed Leliana's company. He ought not to begrudge Maude this innocent pleasure.

"Sebastian isn't coming?" asked Merrill in a sweet, lilting voice.

"Can't tear himself away from Kirkwall," Adam Hawke shrugged.

"You mean he can't tear himself away from the Grand Cleric," Isabela said tartly. "She might sneeze and need her white knight to wipe her nose."

There was some sniggering, though Fenris did not join in. Loghain remembered that Hawke was acquainted with the Prince of Starkhaven, who had taken orders here. So a Chantry brother sometimes joined them on their adventures? Well, why not? Leliana had been a lay sister when she had first joined forces with Maude.

Loghain asked Varric, "What do you know about the men who attacked us?"

"Well, first of all," Varric said, gravelly voice low. "they were Carta dwarves. So were the ones who went after Hawke. Usually they're more into smuggling, and not this stupid. I mean, I can see why they might be pissed with Hawke, but why attack Bethany, unless they think she's carrying gold? It's..._strange._"

Bethany told her brother, "They attacked me when I was visiting friends in the village near Soldier's Peak. If it hadn't been for Maude..."

Hawke barked a short laugh. "They've been trying to kill me for over a week now. I wrote to you, but obviously they reached you before my letter did."

Loghain asked, "How big is the Carta in Kirkwall, anyway?"

"About two hundred core members. Then there are some who work for them part-time. The ones you've met are obviously the_ crazy_ Carta dwarves. So... Loghain..." Varric grinned at him, testing the way the name rolled off his tongue. "You have a plan? I've got a pretty good idea where their hideout is, but what then?"

Loghain sneered. "Hunt them down. Kill them all."

Maude beamed at him, and rested her head on his shoulder fondly. "I like that sort of plan."

Fenris asked acidly, "So we just walk in and start cutting off heads?"

Oghren guffawed. "Just doing what we do best."

Varric waggled his brows outrageously. "The bloodstains always come out."

Loghain felt there was more they should know. "We questioned one of the dwarves who attacked Bethany. He was a ghoul."

A brief, uneasy silence hung in the air.

"You mean," Hawke probed, "that he really _was_ Tainted?"

"All the dwarves were," Loghain said. "The one we captured spoke of a being called Corypheus, who appeared to be controlling them somehow. Our working theory is that Corypheus is an intelligent, talking darkspawn. We have come across them before."

Another silence.

"Talking darkspawn?" Merrill said faintly. "That's...not very nice."

"They're nasty," Maude agreed. "The one we met before was called the Architect, and he was a powerful mage."

Fenris snorted, as if it were only to be expected.

"—but," Maude added reassuringly. "We put him down. And we did it with a much smaller party than we have now."

Fenris frowned, and then spoke slowly. He had a remarkably pleasant voice. "Corypheus..." he said, considering it, "...is a Tevinter name."

"Do you think that significant?" Loghain asked.

Fenris shrugged. "I think it is ominous. Tevinter mages are the scourge of Thedas."

Loghain had known only one Tevinter mage personally, and had thought him a greedy, strutting poser, but admittedly this elf had known more of them, and for longer. And Maude had hinted that Caladrius had been powerful. Tevinters knew a lot of magic that they had not shared with anyone else. How else had they fended off the Chantry, the Qunari, and all the rest of Thedas for the past thousand years?

Speculation was useless, so they moved on to serious planning. There was another round of the execrable ale, and then Loghain picked up Varric's latest literary effort, which had been personally inscribed by the author and ceremoniously presented to Maude that very evening.

"_Hard in Hightown_…" He read the title aloud, voice laden with disbelief. "What kind of book is this?"

Maude mulled it over. "I think," she said, "it's sort of like those romance novels Wynne liked to read, only for men."

"Hmmph!"

Maude nudged him. _"All the men are hairy-chested—"_

_"And all the women, double-breasted!"_ Varric finished. The two of them burst out laughing. Loghain blew out a breath. Was he going to have to listen to this sort of thing the entire time he was in the Free Marches?

* * *

Sixteen people and three dogs was a serious enough party that they could be fairly bold. They had been accosted in the streets a few times, and then the would-be bandits noticed what they were dealing with, and slinked away with sickly smiles and an occasional "never mind." Loghain thought they should slaughter them all on general principles, but they had a mission to accomplish before he could please himself.

The stiff letter to the Warden-Commander of Tantervale was posted, and Varric, once one got past all the flowery talk and nonsense, had actually gleaned some useful information about a probable site in the Vimmark Mountains. From there it was mostly a matter of putting together their supplies, hiring some guards with a decent reputation, loading a pair of wagons, and marching out past the incredibly irritating gawkers to get the bloody job done. They left behind a growing pile of letters and petitions from scores of people, all begging Loghain to step in and fix their lives, right a wrong, find their cat, or otherwise save the world. Loghain considering burning them all before they left, but Maude advised against it.

"Let's look at them when we get back. There might be something fun there."

There followed a two-day journey through unknown territory, featuring unfamiliar food, musty tents, and plagues of new and disgusting insects. The road was impossible: bits of Tevinter work interspersed with rubble and abyssal potholes. After watching his own people and Hawke's people for a time, he decided to let Hawke's party coalesce into their own little squad, rather than trying to integrate them into the Wardens. If this were to be a long journey, that would be a problem, but as they did not expect to be out here more than two weeks at most, he would let it go. There were no significant personality problems, other than a certain hostility in Hawke's band between the the two elves. Fenris genuinely loathed mages, even the fragile, harmless Merrill. Hawke seemed to have it under control.

Loghain was having enough trouble with the landscape.

It was a wasteland. Loghain had heard and read the word "wasteland," but he had not fully pictured it. No unBlighted place in Ferelden resembled this arid land, devoid of green growing things and good water. Rotting bodies of men and beasts sporadically decorated the road and the ditches to either side. Dusty plains stretched before them, bare of vegetation save for some stunted thorny brush. The Vimmark Mountains, growing larger as they headed north, were not imposing and snow-capped, but squat and rocky, splintered and arranged in strange, unnatural formations. In fact, this was...a desert.

He must have spoken aloud, for Fenris nodded in agreement. "There are many kinds of desert. This windblown scrubland resembles parts of the Qunari territory. It can be treacherous, especially when one is not accustomed to any difficulty finding water."

Loghain reflected with relief on the big water barrels in the wagons. It was true: he had never dealt with thirst as a likelihood. He was definitely not moving to the Free Marches.

Maude patted his arm. "It's all right, Loghain. We'll probably have to explore some sort of ghastly underground deathtrap, and we won't have spend much time here in the desert!"

On the morning of the third day, they were into the mountains, and were—as far as they could tell—close to their destination. At least they hoped they were, for the wagons could go no farther.

"Well," Varric sighed, shading his eyes with his hand, "the road stops here. My sources say we go through that gap to find the hideout. Not a very pretty place for a vacation."

The road, in fact, did end abruptly at a rocky landslide and a jumble of burned wagons and bloated dead bodies. A traders' caravan had come to a very sticky end, and not long ago.

Varric shook his head. "I still say it's _really_ strange. The Carta shouldn't be here. In fact,_ here_ shouldn't be here. It's all a big blank spot on the map." He nudged a headless body with the toe of his boot. "He was a member of the Merchant's Guild. The Carta doesn't kill Guild members...usually. They're businessmen. I don't get it."

"Don't think of them as Carta anymore," Maude said. "They're ghouls now. Their brains are totally scrambled. Probably they'd attack anything."

Loghain said, "You estimated that the Carta in Kirkwall numbered about two hundred. Corypheus must have gained control of a rogue band: small, but strong enough to deal damage."

Their hired guards were left with the wagons, and promised serious gold if they stayed with them for three days. Loghain saw no reason to expect more of them. Everyone filled their canteens—and spares— from the water barrels, and they moved out, quite an impressive company.

A dirt path wound through a gully, descending on a shallow grade. From far off in the rocks, a gruff voice shouted, "It's the Hawke!"

Ambrose remarked, "Apparently we're not alone here."

"Up there," Maude murmured, carefully not looking. "The Carta's people are watching us. Apparently we're expected. Let's see what they do."

They moved in deeper, and turning a corner, they found themselves before the crumbling walls of an old fort. The path led through a huge gateway, but the gates themselves were long gone. Just inside, a lone dwarf awaited them—another ghoul, his eyes filmed like grey marble. Those horrible eyes stared unblinkingly at Adam and Bethany, blind to all else.

"You!" the dwarf shouted. "The children of Malcolm Hawke—brother and sister both. You...have come to us."

Adam burst out, annoyed, "What does my father have to do with this?"

"It began with him and it ends with you!" the wretched dwarf declared. "Blood for blood!"

"Oh, that makes all sorts of sense," snarked Isabela.

Bethany asked, "Did our Father do something to the Carta?"

The dwarf was too far gone to answer questions. "You've come to us! That's the only thing that matters!"

Maude told the dwarf, "Sorry. You can't have their blood. And that's an icky thing to want, anyway. Loghain, this one doesn't seem to know any more than that lunatic in Breaker's Cove."

"The blood!" shouted the dwarf. "We must have it! Corypheus will walk in the sun once more!"

A few dwarves ran up to support the lunatic, but all of them were dealt with swiftly. Loghain had already had enough of this Corypheus.

"Blood," Oghren muttered. "It's always blood. "Why can't it be spit? Or a lock of hair?"

Ambrose asked, "Would you really want to encounter a Spit Mage?"

"For variety, sure."

Maude and Isabela paused to pick up anything of value, and they moved cautiously ahead. where they saw some impressive gate machinery. A dilapidated wooden stockade enclosed a dusty courtyard, behind the tall gates.

Maude edged closer, studying the lay of the land. "There are probably traps in there. Thanyra, come along with me. I want to show you how to disarm them."

There were traps, indeed, and a wild bronto, which was fairly exciting for those who had never seen one before; and also a dozen dwarves, mostly archers. It was a lively few minutes. Those with shields put them up and rushed the dwarves. Overwhelmed, the dwarves did not flee or sue for mercy. Ghouls were beyond that. Loghain was reconsidering his original estimate of the opponent's numbers. Had the entire Carta of Kirkwall become infected with the Taint?

He had his people search the site for any clues as to what was going on; and then they cleaned their weapons, rested, and prepared to move on into the compound. A few minor wounds were healed, and there was time for a brief snack. Unsurprisingly, there was a lot of talk and gossip.

"You never take me anywhere nice," Isabela complained to Hawke.

Adam sighed, "Someday I'll go somewhere not filled with crazy, murderous ghouls lusting for my blood. Maybe a beach."

Varric scoffed. "The day you go to the beach will be the day an armada of angry demon pirates shows up."

_"Demon pirates,"_ Maude breathed. "Sounds good to me."

"Besides, we go to the beach all the time," Isabela said. "The Wounded Coast is all one big beach. It can be profitable, but no one could call it _nice."_

"It could be, though," Merrill piped up. "If you don't count the demons and Tal-Vashoth and bandits and slavers, it's quite pretty, really."

"That's true, " Maude allowed. "You could clear out the riff-raff and develop the place for pleasure jaunts, complete with chaise lounges and cool, fruity drinks. You could rent little sailboats so people could explore the islands. Make sure they sign waivers, though, so you're not called before the Viscount when people drown or get eaten by sea monsters."

Loghain tuned all this out, getting his people on the move once more, focusing on the path before him. He eyed the stone heights on either side, alert for hidden bowmen and ambushes. They moved past the last twist in the red rocks, and then—

"What's this?"

"Will you look at that!"

An ancient bridge spanned the chasm before them, and on the other side was a huge stone complex, obviously the work of centuries. In the midst of it rose a stone tower adorned with gilded griffons and statues that recalled the figures of Paragons in Orzammar. Dwarven work commissioned by the Wardens? One side of the tower was protected by the deep cleft. Loghain peered into the depths below, trying to see if a river ran through it. Hard to tell, for the thick mist that rose up within it. A gallery of stone arches sheltered a long descending staircase. Built into the side of the mountain nearest them was a jumble of doorways and steps and tiny barred windows.

"A fortress," said Bethany, "It really is a fortress, here in the middle of nowhere!"

Gravel scraped ahead. Scattered dwarves darted out of the shadows, and scampered down a flight of stairs.

"I'll keep looking for traps," Maude said, "These little buggers have no doubt arranged some surprises for us."

Traps, yes: on a narrow staircase were a series of pressure plates that Maude handily disarmed. She stood back and let Thanyra handle the last set, watching intently. Once past them, they found a grubby courtyard and two brontos charging them. Arrows and crossbow bolts slowed but did not stop them. Loghain found himself wishing for a stout boarspear. As long as one did not stupidly stand in front of the brute's rush, they were not that hard to kill. Exasperatingly, a company of crazed dwarven ghouls charged in to support them. Loghain again mentally revised his estimates upward. They had not even reached the tower yet.

A few minutes later, there were dead ghouls and slaughtered brontos in the courtyard. Loghain cleaned his sword, deep in thought. "Is it possible that the entire Carta is involved? You said there are about two hundred of them."

Varric shrugged. "That just a guesstimate. The numbers go up and down. Full-fledged members? At least two hundred. On the other hand, nearly every dwarf in Kirkwall has some dealings with them."

Well, their party was strong and unhurt. If the ghouls kept throwing handfuls against them, they should be able to deal with them readily, no matter how large the total number. The party's morale seemed high, since they were now talking about food.

"Brontos are good eating," Oghren told Kain. "If these weren't Tainted, I'd say we should dig a pit for a proper roast. Heh. Maybe another time."

For safety's sake, they needed to clear out all the rooms and dwellings carved out of the living rock of the mountain. Most of it had the look of barracks. They were certainly used for that now, and they stank of ghoul; but they definitely seemed to have been constructed with that purpose in mind.

Loghain broke the company into squads, and they were told to report anything of note and look for documents. Loghain ducked his head under a lintel, and looked about in disgust. When anyone—dwarf, human, or elf —became a ghoul, they lost all inhibitions and all interest in camp hygiene. It was fairly disgusting. Then too, these crumbling chambers reminded him of whatever architect had perpetrated the monstrosity known as Lowtown. The coolness inside, however, was not unwelcome. Ferelden's sun did not beat down as hard as the sun in these northern parts.

More dwarves were found in the inner chambers, and quickly dispatched. There was a general ransacking, for treasure and coin was there in plenty, and a huge store of old weapons, as well.

"What this?" Loghain muttered. A bow obviously, but a kind he had never before seen.

"A Tevinter longbow," Fenris told him, the word "Tevinter" uttered like a curse. "Of an antique design."

"Impressive," Loghain commented, wishing he could take it along.

In the adjoining chamber, Maude picked the lock of a chest and found armor.

"Grey Warden trappings," she said, "also of ancient design. When we're done here, we should tote off the good stuff, Loghain. We can display it at Soldier's Peak. Our very own Museum of Warden Memorabilia."

Valentine proudly brought back his own find, a crumbling piece of parchment. Since the script was old and dwarven, Varric read it aloud, with Oghren squinting over his shoulder.

_"Scout's report:_

_"Our examination revealed construction that is remarkably sturdy for its age. The fortress's foundations reach deeper into the rock than expected. Two levels below the surface, we discovered a series of twisting, underground passages, chiseled out of the mountain itself. I commanded the men to set up camp there. _

_"Not an hour later, one of the newer men reported voices from the depths. He flew into a frenzy, demanding that we leave immediately. Those unused to tight spaces often display such hysteria. Thankfully, I was able to calm him before his raving affected the rest of the team. _

_"But he was gone this morning. Tracks led deeper into the caverns. We shall follow him..._

"Bad idea," Hawke snorted. "Though I shouldn't say that, since we're doing exactly the same thing..."

"It was nailed up on a wall," Valentine said. "A long time ago from the look of the parchment. It must pre-date these ghouls."

They moved on, descending more staircases, finding more traps, more ghouls. A last doorway seemed to lead deep into the rambling structure.

"This is it," Maude said. "This is where things get _interesting."_

They entered a big shabby warehouse of a place: rough-hewn wood pillars supporting the high ceiling, scores of crates stacked carelessly. The place had something of the look of dwarf mine, for there were mining carts on rails. The party moved from room to room, and found all of it crude and unfinished, the wooden walls crumbling, the floorboards creaking underfoot. In one tiny room, they found a writing table and a pile of badly-scrawled parchment. It looked fairly fresh.

"What's all this?" Maude asked eagerly. "Pamphlets? I hope they're not denouncing Alistair!" She thumbed through them, and made a face.

"They're notes of various kinds. Here's a memorandum someone left."

She read,_ "We have tracked Bethany Hawke to Ferelden, where the Grey Wardens are housed. Bring her intact and unharmed. We must have the blood of Malcolm Hawke. If someone gets in your way, kill them, but do it quietly. The Great One will reward you richly for your service._

_"In the name of the Master, Corypheus. May he see sunlight again."_

Loghain sneered. "Not if I can help it."

Bethany protested, "But dwarves can't use magic—blood magic or any other kind. This makes no sense."

"I agree, Sunshine," Varric said, "Dwarves want gold, not blood. This is...different."

"Yes," Maude explained patiently. "They're ghouls. They're...all messed up. Oh, good, this one is political," she said airily. "Ghouls have politics. Exciting."

She read it aloud.

_"Praise Corypheus!"_

_"Like many of you, I was once a thieving wretch. I was a servant to coin and my own base desires. And that is when I heard his call. Corypheus opened my eyes, just as he has opened yours, and showed me what was true._

_"What is the Carta beside Corypheus? Nothing but dust and ashes. Only Corypheus is eternal. We are his hands and his eyes on the surface. We are the ones he honored with his trust, to dig him from his prison in the Deep Roads._

_"When Corypheus steps into the sunlight, we will be rewarded. Praise him! Praise Corpheus."_

"Not a pamphlet," Loghain grunted. "A speech. Now ghouls make speeches. _Next,_ they really will begin distributing explanatory pamphlets."

"Ghoul culture," Maude shook her head. "What a thing it is to travel in exotic lands. The Ferelden ghouls I've known had no culture at all. Don't look at me like that, Varric. No aspersions on general Ferelden culture are to be cast today. We have _heaps_ of culture. Besides, this is serious."

Varric agreed, looking worried. "Ghouls haven't just infiltrated the Carta," he said. "It's sounds like they've taken it over!"

"And there's a journal," Maude picked up the little leather book and made a face at its smell. "A ghoul journal. Travel is certainly very broadening. It says it's the property of one Rhatigan."

"Rhatigan!" Varric was not the only one surprised. Hawke and Isabela looked genuinely alarmed.

"Rhatigan," Hawke explained, "is the head of the Carta in Kirkwall."

"This really does go all the way to the top," Varric muttered.

"Read it," Loghain ordered, revising his numbers yet again.

Maude put up her hand for silence. "This is interesting, though I can't claim to understand it. Rhatigan's writing gets weird starting around the beginning of the year. Before it was all grubby criminal scheming that made perfect sense. Now he's talking about 'The Great One.' Poor bastard. What do you make of this? '_The Great One's Key,'" _she read."A bad sign, that. When people talk about anyone they call 'The Great One,' you know they've gone completely around the bend."

"Maude..." Loghain said, "Just read it."_  
_

"Oh, all right."

_"The Wardens did not guard the Key with care. It was left in a repository, with objects of little worth. Trinkets. Dusty Grey Warden trophies. Not even a guard posted. Fools. If only they knew what they had, and had lost._

_"It will not wake at my touch; it sleeps and its power remains within. The Great One says it requires Malcolm Hawke's blood to awaken it. Only then can its powers set him free._

_"I will find the heir to the blood and the Great One will reward me. Yes. Let is be soon."_

The Hawkes, obviously, were unhappy with this. "A key tuned to Father's blood?" Bethany wondered. "That's _highly _unlikely. He was no blood mage, right?"

Loghain sighed. Children always had trouble grasping that a parent had had a life long before children were in the picture. Perhaps this Malcolm Hawke not only had a life, but a Past.

"One thing is certain," he said heavily. "The Grey Wardens have not done their duty by this place. Why _is_ there no guard? Why could these ghouls move in and take over?" He narrowed his eyes at Valentine, who put up his hands in surrender, looking helpless.

"I don't know! I told you, I didn't even know this place existed. Maybe the Warden-Commander thought it could be better hidden if no one came here at all. Obviously, he was wrong. Or maybe," he admitted. "he simply didn't have the manpower. We're only about a hundred strong in Tantervale. It would take all of us to man this place."

That was true. Perhaps, as the Blights receded from popular memory and tithes grew thin, the force at Tantervale had shrunk, and they had abandoned this place. It didn't make it right, but it was definitely a possibility.

Maude clearly thought it all badly done. "If you decide to close down a prison, it's only rational to make sure you've properly disposed of your prisoners. You can kill them, you can take them with you and put them in a new prison, or you can set them free. The Wardens did none of the above. They left the prison to the inmates, and one of them has clearly taken over, and now is gathering minions, using the prison as his base. We'll have to send the Warden-Commander of Tantervale another unpleasant letter, Loghain."

"Yes. Later. Let's move out."

* * *

After a few minutes of prowling, they came to a closed door. Maude pressed her ear to it, gestured for silence, and opened it slowly. Loghain could hear voices raised in half-witted conversation.

One idiot said, "Rhatigan says we shall be rewarded if the Blood of the Hawke comes soon. We shall hear our master's voice."

Another voice, thin and whining, complained. "I hate how all of you can hear the Master. I never do."

So that was ghoulish conversation. Very edifying. They moved quickly into the room and killed the two ghouls at once, and then the seven others that came rushing in from a corridor. One of them was a strong bowman, but he was simply swept away by numbers.

The place was a maze: haphazardly constructed, mostly of wood. Sawdust drifted in the murky air. A stray spark could set the entire place ablaze. Loghain gestured the mages close.

"Don't use fire spells. They could be fatal to all of us."

Merrill looked at him blankly, and then it registered. "Oh. Yes. I quite see what you mean."

Maude shot him a sympathetic grin.

"Good. Now that's settled, we won't all have to be _burned alive,"_ he muttered to himself.

A quick reconnaissance assured them that no other ghouls were close. Loghain ordered another search of the area. This yielded up even more treasure, including a small and heavy chest that someone had carelessly left under a staircase. It was not even locked.

"Seventeen sovereigns!" Oghren exclaimed. "These sodding, nug-humping dwarf ghouls are _rich!"_

They passed a series of cells, all with locked doors. Maude picked the locks and found they were strongrooms.

"There's over a thousand sovereigns here!" she said, excited. "Loghain! At this rate, we'll more than pay for our trip to Kirkwall, even counting our tab at the Hanged Man!"

Isabela cleared her throat.

Maude added, "And of course all loot will be shared out fairly and equitably."

The atmosphere cleared, and became as pleasant and cheerful as possible, aside from the general ghoul-stink.

They made their way down more rickety stairs, where they found more mining tracks and more carts, and yet more dusty clutter. Abruptly, they were discovered.

A young dwarf, beardless as Varric, ran toward them. He did not seem hostile, though his eyes were glazed like the rest of the ghouls. Varric stepped forward, his bow lowered.

"Gerav?"

"Varric?" The young face contracted in bewilderment. "No one told me you would be part of this. We were just going after the Hawke!"

"You know each other?" Loghain asked. Was this creature sane enough to tell them something useful?

Varric made the introductions. "Loghain, this is Gerav, a no-good, brilliant, greedy son of bitch. These are Grey Wardens, Gerav, and with them are the Hawkes, whom your friends seem to want to meet."

The faint gleam of intelligence faded. The dwarf 's voice dulled. "The Master is calling. He needs the blood."

"Gerav, buddy!" Varric groaned. "This isn't like you! Look! I've still got Bianca. You remember Bianca? You_ built_ Bianca! Never misfired a day in her life. You don't want her to see her Papa like this, do you?

"Er, Varric?" Adam asked. "You want to spare this friend of yours?"

Gerav's face tightened in a vicious smirk, and he drew his sword. A mob of ghouls pounded into the room.

"Not if he's after you, Hawke," Varric replied, grimly raising his bow. "Bianca, I think it's time to say good bye."

The room exploded into controlled violence. Loghain had noticed that as they went deeper into the structure, the ghouls were becoming fiercer. Gerav himself put up quite a fight before Osbeck sheared off his head. The rest of the ghouls were put down; by arrow or blade or springbow bolt. One fell to his death, when Hawke kicked him from the staircase and sent him screaming into space, to land on a pile of rubble three floors down. After it was over, Varric stood over Gerav's body, not exactly grieving, but clearly not happy.

"You poor, stupid bastard." He turned to Maude. "Gerav was always a nutcase, but in a good way. You understand what I mean?"

"He designed Bianca?"

"Yeah. Brilliant. And last I heard he was trying to build a repeater that was even better. I can't believe he ended up like this."

She patted his shoulder. "It wasn't his fault."

* * *

As they moved on, the structure gradually evolved from a ramshackle wooden one to something built at least partly of stone. The sensation of ghoul and Taint also grew stronger. They reached a big stone opening with a raised portcullis. Clearly, these dwarves had never imagined an attack. A ranting voice drew them on, and they saw, illuminated by oil lamps, a powerful bearded dwarf.

"Rhatigan," Varric muttered. "That's really Rhatigan himself."

They stepped out into the big chamber, and took their positions. One of Rhatigan's minions spotted them and cried out a hoarse alarm.

Filmy eyed, but with something of his personality remaining, the dwarf swaggered toward them.

"Both Hawkes. How generous. You've made it easy for me. I swore to Corypheus I would bring him your blood."

"Pompous ass!" hissed Maude. "Fanaticism and dwarves do not make for an attractive combination, Varric!"

Heedless of her critique, Rhatigan roared out, "Master! Your sacrifice is here!"

He fought like no ordinary dwarf. Had he drunk dragon's blood? Was he channeling some of his Master's magic? However he did it, he was formidable. He actually knocked an astonished Osbeck down. Kain and Darrow double-teamed him: a feint from one, a slash from another. Isabela somersaulted low and hacked at his legs. Hunter got a grip on a massive arm and slowed the dwarf enough for blades to bite into him. He had a personal guard of a dozen, mostly bowmen, though Ambrose was surprised to come face-to-face with a human mage. A mage who very shortly thereafter was dead.

Varic said, "One of the Coterie's alchemists. The Carta borrows them from time to time. This poor sod got sucked in and Tainted. Nope. No idea who he is."

Rhatigan, as the Carta leader, had a great deal of personal plunder. In a chest, they even found a mage's staff: a staff inscribed with the name "Malcolm Hawke."

"Bethany!" Loghain called. "Come and look at this!"

The girl came forward, a puzzled look in her eyes as she saw her father's name. "It was Father's staff? Or a staff he used? Oh, that is a strange one." She put out her hand to touch it and then cried out as it began sparking. She fell back, and her brother caught her.

"Are you all right?"

"I could _feel_ it," she gasped, wide-eyed. "I could feel it inside me. That's no ordinary staff."

"It's entirely possible," Maude speculated, "that this is the Key they were speaking of. _'The Great One's Key.'_ They said it only responds to the touch of the Hawke's blood. If it is...then it's going to take us to Corypheus."

"Let me see it," Ambrose asked. "Maybe it's just a very powerful staff..."

If it was, it was certainly temperamental. It did not respond in any way either to Ambrose or to Merrill. It was a completely inert if decorative piece of silverite, onyx, and crystal. To the non-mages of the group—with the exception of Adam Hawke—holding it gave them a dully unpleasant sensation, and they dropped it quickly. Adam could hold it without discomfort, and he said he felt _something,_ but he was not sure what it was.

"You probably have just enough innate magic to do what the dwarves want, but not enough to use it as a real staff," Ambrose remarked. "Sorry, but this is one weapon Bethany can use better than you."

"It's amazing," Bethany murmured. "It's incredibly powerful. I feel like I could do anything with this."

Fenris muttered, "Oh, good. Like rule the world? _Mages..."_

Bethany pretended not to hear him, and decided to take the new staff with her. If it was the key, they would need it. If it was not, it was still the best staff she had ever held in her hands.

They searched all the alcoves and doorways and hiding places, checking for traps and plunder. There was loot, certainly, but Loghain was even more pleased to find a windlass and a well. The mages inspected the water and pronounced it untainted and fit to drink. Canteens were refilled, and Loghain sent Darrow and Kain to scout ahead. Not too much later, they trotted back to report.

"We've cleared everything out on this level, Commander," said Darrow. "There's a stone staircase ahead that doesn't look like anything we've seen before. Much finer and more finished-like. It goes down a long way."

Kain agreed. "It's different, all right. Older. It looks...important. And there are darkspawn down there, too, ser. Quite a few of them."

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: MsBarrows, Rakeesh14, Judy, Psyche Sinclair, KnightOfHolyLight, EpitomyofShyness, Zute, tgcgoddess, Oleander's One, Jyggilag, anon, Aoi24, Kira Kyuu, Rexiselic, Tsu Doh, Nimh, Jenna53, Phygmalion, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, mille libri, Josie Lange, JackOfBladesX, Costin, kdarnell2, Thomas Blaine, Mike3207, and Shakespira. _

_I know that in canon the Key takes the form of Hawke's persona, whether mage, warrior, or rogue, but that simply makes no sense. Malcolm Hawke was a mage, and the key ought to be a staff. And since Bethany is a mage, she get's Daddy's inheritance. It's only fair. Adam got the house._

_"All the men are hairy-chested..." I'm quoting a song from the movie _The Great Race._ I love that goofy film._

_I'll post a new chapter of Victory at Ostagar next week. I've got to get Anora down from that tower!  
_


	47. More Than You Wanted to Know

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 47: Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about the Grey Wardens, but Were Afraid to Ask**

Before they descended into the depths of the fortress—the part that probably was the real prison they were told of—Loghain ordered everyone to have something to eat and get some rest. It was unfortunate that there was no way for them to have a hot meal, but they had some dried rations that would lend them strength.

"And we have plenty of water, so they can at least have a hot drink," Maude declared. She pulled out a silver box from deep within a pocket. "Highever Honeygrass! Just the thing when killing darkspawn." She found a battered cauldron, had the mages sear it clean, and set about brewing tea.

"S'not bad, spiked with a bit of home brew," Oghren said, producing a stone bottle. Soon the sweet, spicy scent of the tea was victorious over the rank odors of battle. Everyone became much more cheerful, drinking their tea spiked or unspiked, unwrapping their rations.

The dwarven ghouls had supplies, of course, but they were nasty and foul. Grey Wardens were resistant to any kind of sickness, but Hawke's people were not.

Supplemented with the hot, fragrant tea, their own food was not so bad, after all. They had bought a supply of a kind of meal bar made in Kirkwall, composed of bacon pounded with dried fruit, oats, and nuts, and formed into thin logs. Elf Fingers, they were called, though rude people called them something a bit different. They actually gave a great deal of nourishment for their weight. Fenris and Merrill must not mind the name, for they were eating as hungrily as anyone else. Even the dogs liked Elf Fingers.

Morale was still high. Some gossip, some flirting, and Maude going on about Gareth. It was easy to see who in the group was even moderately interested in babies, and who was not. That could be surprising, sometimes. Loghain knew that Bethany liked children, but Varric was listening with amused tolerance, and Fenris was surprisingly attentive. Isabela was pretending to scoff, but Loghain had learned to see through the masterly scoffings of Morrigan, and Isabela was not in the same league.

They filled their canteens once more and Maude took the lead, along with Varric and Thanyra. There were no traps, but a bit of noise rose up from below.

Down, the stairs they went. Down and down. The staircases transformed gradually into elegant masterpieces of stonework: a bit crumbling, but still very fine. At the foot of the stairs a party of dwarves burst out running in the other direction. Thanyra and Varric quickly dropped two of them, but the rest disappeared into the labyrinth ahead.

Oghren bellowed a curse from the rear. "Bastards have trapped us!"

This was not good. The mages inspected the warded barrier and agreed that going back was not an option for now.

"The whole blasted thing's sealed over," Ambrose said. "I could work on it, but without knowing exactly what it is..."

"Very well. Then we go forward," Loghain said. "Whatever is doing the magic is ahead, anyway. That's what we've come to destroy."

It was not the Deep Roads, really, but it resembled them. No windows, but huge balconies, looking across to the heavy tower that he was certain was their destination. Maude studied the balconies, and shook her head.

"No point climbing down. We could be attacked from behind. If we absolutely had no other way to get out, we could give climbing up a try. I could do it, but since we want to explore anyway, I don't see the point in trying it now."

"Right," agreed Hawke. "To get to the tower, it looks like we have to go down, and then up."

"There's probably a tunnel from the lowest level here over to the tower," Loghain speculated. "It's like Drake's Fall, with a tower going down instead of up. We'll clear all this lot as we go."

A heavy door loomed ahead, sticking inconveniently. There was a pause, and then Osbeck kicked it down. They walked through.

"Well done, Osbeck!" praised Maude. "I am in awe before the power of your booted feet! Oh, my—"

The genlocks, feasting on dwarven corpses, looked up and saw them.

Maude bounded toward them, and Loghain pounded after her. Within seconds, everyone was in position, and hacking lustily at the brutes. The dogs bayed, herding the darkspawn into corners, and then ripping into them. Loghain noticed that Hawke's dog Hunter was doing very well.

One darkspawn down, then three, then six... In short order all nine were down, and Loghain could get a good look at the place.

Yes. It somewhat resembled the Deep Roads, but that could be because dwarves probably had a role in the construction. Fine stonework, handsomely carved. Along the corridor were barred cells, and some cells that were not barred, suggesting... Loghain considered. Magical barriers, perhaps?

"I could do without all the griffons," Maude sniffed, waving at the statues in every conceivable corner. "It's a Warden prison. We get that. That the Wardens have to stick up effigies of griffons everywhere is simply a testament to their bad taste. They should just put a sign over the door: _'Grey Warden Hellhole: Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter!'"_

"That's interesting," Ambrose said, gesturing at a shield hanging in the next chamber. Part of it was glowing ominously. "I think it's a magical device of some kind."

Merrill and Bethany hurried to look at it. Bethany gingerly touched a glowing red light with the tip of her staff, and a resonant, disembodied voice issued forth.

_"Be bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be."_

"Hello?" Maude called. "Somebody down here? Somebody with a very nice voice?"

"It sounded like..." Hawke began uncertainly.

"...Father..." whispered Bethany. "But how can that be?"

They moved along the row of empty cells. Further on were more of the shields with the red lights. Ambrose had read about such things, and remembered that they were triggers of some sort. Perhaps in this case they triggered barrier wards.

"Very sophisticated," he said. "There was a lengthy book in Old Tevinter about them in the Circle library. They're for containing demons. The voice is part of the enchantment; a memory of the spell that was cast...well, who knows how long ago? It's called a Mark of the Binder."

They found what appeared to be an empty cell with such a Mark, and shortly discovered that tapping it did indeed release a Binding. The cell was not empty, after all.

"Oh, look!" cried Maude. "A Shade. Let's kill it!"

More of the demons rose up, and were annoyingly resistant to anything but magic. The large number in the party, however, distracted the demons, and they were frozen and destroyed. As the last glow of magic faded, the disembodied voice spoke again.

_"I can do nothing about the Warden's use of demons in this horrid place, but I will have no one say that any magic of mine released one into the world."_

"It does sound like Father," Hawke said.

"And it appears he didn't think much of Grey Wardens," Loghain remarked sourly. "Judging from this place, I think I can see his point."

"Really!" Maude muttered. "Leaving demons unguarded? Why? Why not destroy them and save everybody else a headache? This place makes absolutely no sense."

It _had_ been designed by a lunatic, Loghain decided. Rows of cells led to nothing; corridors met at odd angles. And there were bones. Lots of human and dwarven bones. Most of them were quite bare and of not much interest to the dogs.

"Plenty of human bones in the cells, too," Maude pointed out tartly. "I wonder if the Wardens didn't use the prison for other captives."

Had the Wardens imprisoned people here? Loghain found this idea deeply disturbing. Even...he grimaced at the thought...their own? Imprisoned, and left to starve and die, or be slain and eaten by the monsters that inhabited the place? He directed his people to search the cells for anything...anything at all that would explain what was going on here.

Finally, in a particularly nasty cell, they found a document.

_"Privileged to the Wardens,"_ Ambrose read. He called out, "This is important!"

Maude leaned in and then took the paper, reading it aloud.

_"All we hear is that this is one of the great Grey Warden secrets. 'It must be protected at all costs.' As usual, we're most concerned with deceiving our own people. But why hide that the Deep Roads were shaped not only by the dwarves but also by us?_

_"I found records dating back to 1004 TE, the wake of the First Blight. Early Wardens discovered that some darkspawn could think and speak and command portions of the horde even after the Archdemon's death. A few could wield magic with the skill of a Tevinter magister, and the Wardens greatly feared them._

_"It was here, in the Vimmark Mountains, that Warden Sashamiri set her trap to capture and study the greatest of these creatures, the one whom they called Corypheus."_

"Sashamiri is an elven name!" Thanyra cried in excitement.

"Yes...another outstanding elven Warden." Maude smiled tolerantly, and then sent the girl off to search more cells. Maude turned to Loghain, and her smile became something quite grim.

"So they _studied_ this Corypheus. Isn't that nice? And what came of that, I'd like to know? Nothing they've deigned to share, evidently. And then they just..._leave_ him here? I swear this is the craziest outfit in Thedas, not excepting the Chantry!"

They moved from stone chamber to chamber. Everywhere were tiresome griffon statues and the arms of the Wardens. The place was grand even in decay.

Thanyra moved ahead, peering out to a stone bridge connecting one part of the structure to another, and then shrank back, giving Maude a wild-eyed look.

"Come and see!" she whispered. "That is not a darkspawn...is it?"

Maude looked, and slipped quickly to the doorway, gesturing to Loghain. "No. It's not a darkspawn. Loghain, we might get some questions answered."

Loghain narrowed his eyes. What was that creature, grubbing in the rubble? It moved like a darkspawn, but its skin was much lighter, and there were random patches of hair on its head. The creature rose from its haunches, and Loghain saw what it was wearing.

"Maker's Breath!"

They moved forward—cautiously— to meet the shambling figure in Grey Warden armor.

It was a ghoul. Clearly, it was a ghoul, judging from the filmy eyes. It was also still, to some degree, a man, a warrior, and a Warden.

The pitiful creature looked their way, and gaped. He took in the Warden armor, then limped toward them, calling out questions in a rasping, stammering voice.

"The Key! The Key! Did they find it? I heard the dwarves looking...digging. How did you bring the Key here?"

"Er..." Maude began, with a tight smile. "You're not...Corypheus, are you? Because that would be bad."

The ghoul Warden shrank away, lifting his hands as if to ward off even more evil than was contained in his own putrid carcass. "Do not say his name! He will hear you. Do not attract his attention—-not when you hold the Key!"

Bethany asked, hefting the staff. "You mean this, don't you? How can this be a key?"

"Magic! Old magic it is. Old magic from blood. It made the seals. It can destroy them."

"All this talk about blood is a little creepy," Hawke complained

Loghain said, "Are you at least planning on telling us your name?"

"So long since I said my name," the ghoul whispered. "Larius. Larius...that was my name. There was a title, too... Commander... Commander of the Grey."

"Thus definitely a Warden," said Maude. "Not exactly what we want on our recruiting posters, of course."

"A Warden!" Ambrose gasped. "What _happened?"_

The Wardens gathered, staring at the ghoul, and Loghain could see they were alarmed. How could he blame them? Who would want to be reduced to this? With all the hideous changes, it was difficult to guess the man's age, but he must be in his middle years. He might even be younger than Loghain himself.

"I've heard your name before!" Valentine interjected. "You were the Warden-Commander of Tantervale before I Joined. I thought..." he looked horrified. "That you had died... that you went to your Calling." He blushed, and remembered that not everyone present was a Warden.

Merrill asked, her sweet face perfectly innocent, "What's a Calling?"

"Nasty Grey Warden secret," Maude said. "Non-Wardens please put your fingers in your ears and whistle—or not. I really don't care."

"I do," said Loghain. "Hawke, take your people and go stand over there."

Hawke looked briefly rebellious, and Varric was nearly perishing from curiosity. Loghain scowled at the lot of them and then turned his back, considering the wreck before them.

Warden-Commander Larius. The thing had been a Warden-Commander. Loghain felt disgust rise in him like a great rolling wave. Better poison...better to fall on one's sword...better an assassin's knife than this horror. Avernus had saved the Fereldan Wardens from this fate. Loghain was now wondering uneasily if it was his duty to share his discovery. Surely not. When he left this place behind, he would come to his senses. But it was so _very_ wretched. Briefly he considered cutting off the poor creature's head on the spot and putting him out of his misery. Maude would understand, but the junior Wardens might take it quite the wrong way.

Larius began babbling, overjoyed to have an audience other than himself.

"Wardens, yes. Guardians against the Blight. I can help you. Show you the way. Down and in. Down and in. I went to the Calling. The song gets louder. Only death stops it. Oh, yes. I am dead, but I never died—"

Kain scratched his head, and asked, "How is it that he's even alive down here? Why haven't the darkspawn killed him?"

Maude's smile became very peculiar indeed. "Once the corruption goes far enough, the darkspawn think he's one of them. None safer from them than he!"

Loghain looked at his appalled Wardens and said crisply. "This will not happen to you, because of the improved Joining formula. Avernus lived to be over two hundred years old and never experienced the Calling." To Larius he said, "Are there are other exits to this prison?"

The decaying teeth were exposed in a sly smile. Larius said, "The Wardens built their prison well. If the center holds, who cares what else is trapped?"

Patiently, Maude said, "I take that to mean that what comes in does not go out. Looks like we'll have to take the place apart, Loghain." She waved at Varric. "You can come back now. Warden Story-Time is over. "

"Like anyone cares about your poxy secrets," muttered Isabela.

"I'd like to know them," Merrill said, eyes wide. "I love secrets. Wardens are interesting. I met another Warden once. He had a big black beard... I thought he was a bear, at first."

Loghain snorted at that image of Duncan, and smirked at Maude. She shrugged, smiling ruefully.

She said, "Larius here says that the only way out is down, and then up through the central tower."

"Looks like we'll have to go through this place from end to end, Hawke," muttered Varric.

The name riveted the ghoul's attention. "Hawke! The Blood of the Hawke. You, too?" he asked Hawke. "Only the Blood of the Hawke holds the key to his death...Yes, I can show you out, yes."

"You do notice that he's completely crazy?" Varric whispered to Maude.

Larius managed to nod and shake his head at the same time. The motion made Loghain faintly queasy.

"Not crazy. no. Trust me. Anything comes in, nothing ever leaves. Not without the Key. You must use it, yes. On the seal. Every seal, you touch the key to it. Only then they open. Only for the Hawke. Not back. Not up. Only way out is down, and through. Down in the depths. There are documents. I will bring them."

He loped away with a queer stealthy movement.

Fenris raised a handsome brow. "So that's a Warden gone to seed."

"He's not trying to kill us," Varric pointed out. "That makes him all right in my book."

"Mine, too," Maude agreed cheerfully. "We'll keep him in sight. He knows the place, and the darkspawn won't pay any attention to him."

"Why not?" Hawke asked. Bethany nudged him. "Oh. Sorry," he grunted, with exaggerated remorse. "Warden Secret. Excuse me for wanting to know why a Grey Warden would turn into a ghoul and be mistaken for a bosom buddy by the darkspawn."

"_You_ have secrets," Bethany shot back pertly. "You never told me what happened when you were sent to collect that debt at the Blooming Rose."

"What happened, dear little sister," snarked Hawke, "was absolutely none of your business."

Bethany tossed her head. "Well, there you are."

Larius hobbled back, waving some tattered parchment.

Loghain said, "Anyone not a Warden, don't touch anything he's touched."

"I don't want to touch anything he's touched, and_ I'm_ a Warden," Oghren grunted. "And not even very particular in my habits, if you know what I mean."

"We do," Loghain said, taking the parchment from Larius. To his embarrassment, he found it nearly illegible, written in a florid, antiquated hand. Casually, he handed it off to Maude. "More history."

"Oh, good. I love history." She scanned the document. "Nothing here that we need to keep secret, since it's about the Warden's Prison in which we are all currently trapped."

She cleared her throat and read.

_"The Warden's Prison._

_"The Grey Wardens' prison in the Vimmark Mountains is believed to have been constructed more than a thousand years ago. The original method of construction has been lost to history, but the Warden-Commanders of the Free Marches have maintained the prison's secret through the centuries._

_"The prison is concealed in a great rift in the Vimmark Mountains, far from any easily-traveled mountain passes. The Wardens themselves have spread rumors of banditry and beasts to prevent explorers from approaching._

_"The prison consists of a central tower built into the rift with magically-maintained bridges allowing access at different levels. Each level is sealed by a blood magic ritual in which a mage of untainted blood uses his own life essence to create a magical barrier that is permeable from the outside yet impenetrable from within. This one-way access has caused other darkspawn—and perhaps unwary travelers—to be caught within the prison's confines. Those who disappear inside never re-emerge."_

"Perhaps quite a few unwary travelers," said Hawke. "Not very sporting of you Grey Wardens."

"What do you mean, _'you?'"_ Oghren growled. "Nobody here built this place!"

"I agree about unsporting and all," Maude shrugged. "Very bad form, catching everything in a big trap. Look here, Larius—"

"Come," cackled the ghoul. "The First Seal awaits the blood of the Hawke! Let the Key absorb the magic back into itself." Larius hobbled away, beckoning to them.

Varric leaned close to Maude. "Not to rain on your parade, Princess, but do we really want to follow the advice of that bald and seriously looney ghoul?"

"He's the closest thing to a native guide we've got," she said. "Native guides can be treacherous, but they can also be surprisingly faithful, and then die heroically saving their companions. And then each of us will shed a crystal tear in his memory. I think I read that in a book somewhere..."

Hawke was already laughing.

Varric threw up his hands. "Yeah, yeah, I wrote that. He wasn't a _ghoul_ in my story!"

"Enough of this," Loghain said, dragging Maude away from her literary salon.

In a round chamber they found an elaborate magic circle, bound with iron and salt, with four lyrium torches at the cardinal points.

"Let me guess," Loghain said, with heavy sarcasm. "The First Seal?" He gave Bethany a nod. She had the Key, after all.

Gingerly, she tapped the top of the seal with her new staff. The clanging resounded through the room. Nothing else happened.

"I think it was supposed to do something more exciting than that," Valentine complained.

Bethany looked at Ambrose anxiously, and he grimaced.

"You know what you have to do," he said.

"I don't want to!" she shot back, genuinely distressed.

Loghain had grasped what was necessary at once, and sympathized with the girl. If she was averse to performing Blood Magic, that was only to her credit, and he was loath to force her.

Adam Hawke moved close to his sister and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"They need the blood of a Hawke. They didn't care which one." Without hesitation, he smoothly drew his belt knife and sliced a shallow cut into his forearm. As the first drop of blood touched the seal, there was a burst of white flame. A spectral ogre materialized, threw back its horned head, and roared.

Which gave them lots of time to attack. It was big and damage-resistant; but they all knew how to inflict a great deal of damage very quickly, and there was only one of it. When Loghain stabbed it in the heart it abruptly vanished. The lyrium torches blazed higher, wreathing Bethany and her staff in sparks of blue. When they died down, the staff glowed briefly.

"Ooo!" Merrill marveled. "That was pretty!"

"I think it fed more power into the staff," Bethany told them. "Maybe that's what he meant by the Key absorbing the magic into itself."

"Maybe," Ambrose agreed cautiously. Briefly the mages conferred over the staff. Then Bethany used it to heal Hawke's self-inflicted wound.

Larius peered around the corner and crept in. "Two thousand years. The blood works. It is good. The magic calls to the blood...reads the thoughts of those that hold the Key. The last to hold it...the Hawke. I was here, when he laid the seals. Before I became...this." His filmy eyes turned to Adam and Bethany Hawke. "You both favor him."

The two Hawkes looked at each other, unable to find words.

"Let's go," Maude urged them soothingly. "We all have acquaintances that we'd never introduce to our children. I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason your father was mixed up with ghouls, demons, darkspawn, and an inescapable Warden prison...though it doesn't occur to me at the moment."

They moved out the far door. There was yet another bridge, connecting the round chamber with another part of the structure.

"Darkspawn ahead," Loghain muttered. The sensation was very strong, but he saw nothing. No, wait...

"Something's moving..." said Maude.

A squat figure detached itself from a pillar. They had not seen it at first, as it was sheltered behind a massive iron shield taller than itself. The shield was so large, in fact, that the genlock simply pushed it along in front, with an ear-splitting scream of metal on stone.

"That is one seriously heavy shield," Varric remarked, blinking, so astonished that he almost forgot to dodge out of the way.

It was another powerful enemy, this time, extremely resistant to magic, and insensible to pain. Osbeck finally got the shield away from the genlock by separating its hands from the rest of its body.

"Ah," beamed Maude, "the old Chopping-Off-The-Hands Trick. That's one of my favorites, especially today. Larius, are there are lot of these—?"

But the ghoul Warden was gone.

"Slunk away," Darrow said. "Took our eye off him for a minute and he's gone."

"Hope he's not going to rat us out to the darkspawn," Kain said indignantly.

"I don't believe he will." Loghain said, still engrossed with the dying genlock.

It kept on trying to fight, even when armless; rushing at them and knocking them aside. It drooled a great deal, which was also unattractive and previously unseen darkspawn behavior. They had to further dismember it to put it down, which was messy and disagreeable.

Once it was dead, however, they were pleased to discover that they had completely cleaned out that floor of the prison. Another staircase was found. They prepared themselves, and then descended to the next level.

It was very much like the floor above, both in design and condition. There were darkspawn; there were prison cells; there were bones, picked clean.

"Where's the seal here?" Isabela wondered. "Too bad they're not all in one place, but no: that would be _convenient."_

They found more bindings, and more glowing triggers. They unleashed and slew more demons. And once again, they heard the voice of Malcolm Hawke.

_"I may have left the Circle, but I took a vow. My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base." _

"It _is_ Father!" cried Bethany, dark eyes glowing. "That's what he used to teach me. _'To serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base!' _He _was_ here. I can almost see it in my mind."

"Have I ever told you how much I envy you your magical father?" Ambrose asked.

Bethany squeezed her brother's hand. "I still miss him."

"So do I," Adam said heavily.

With painstaking effort, they searched every chamber and every cell; opened every chest, read every scrap of parchment. They also took every single object of value they could pilfer. Even a few objects of no value of all, just to keep their hands in.

"Whoa!" shouted Maude, from the rubbly depths of a cell. "Look at this! It's got an inscription with it. I think it's Tevinter."

Ambrose leaned over. "_The Crown of Dumat. In reverence, you will approach the altar. Know that you come into the presence of Dumat. With head bowed, say:_

_'Blessed are you, Dumat, silent and strong, secret and wise. We bring you gifts, sacrifices to your greatness.'"_

"An offering to one of the Old Gods!" Fenris whispered in disgust.

They crowded to stare at the black and spiky circlet of iron. Flourished upon it was an inlay of lyrium.

"It's very spiffy," Maude said, "but it doesn't look like it would fit a dragon's head. At all. Even if you cut off its horns, which it would probably not be inclined to tolerate. And Dumat's been dead for what...a thousand years? And he was an Archdemon, so I'm not praying to him. But it's a very spiffy crown all the same." She asked Bethany, "Would it make your magic stronger to wear something like that?"

"It's probably cursed," Merrill said primly.

"That, too," Ambrose agreed. "Most likely, the lyrium would cause brain tumors after awhile, but you'd be the greatest mage in Thedas until you dropped dead."

"Still," Loghain considered. "Maude is right. That was never meant to fit a dragon's head."

Hawke shifted uneasily, lost in thought. "When we met Flemeth—"

"Yes," Maude agreed. "That's very suggestive, isn't it? Flemeth said that maybe she really was a dragon, but we know she could also appear to be a woman. Maybe the Old Gods could do that, too. Maybe they liked being humans. Maybe they turned themselves into humans and dressed up with spiffy crowns, when they went off duty. Anyway, I'm taking it with us. It's a historically significant artifact, and it belongs in the Soldier's Peak Collection."

Further down the rows of cells, they found more bones, and another archive of parchment. These documents were old and crumbling; stained with blood and possibly even more unappealing bodily fluids. Much of the parchment fell to fragments when touched, but a few sheets were stronger. All of them were in Old Tevinter, and as such, only Ambrose could decipher them.

"Is it useful, or only a laundry inventory?" asked Maude.

Ambrose scanned it and then nodded grimly. "It's very much to the purpose." He read:

_"An unusual discovery."_

_"The creature can speak. It has a name, Corypheus. We have encountered darkspawn before who use words, but none individual enough to have chosen a name. This Corypheus appears unique among darkspawn, and has gathered many of its brethren to follow it. _

_"It would be wasteful to kill such a creature. If it can be captured, tamed somehow, its unnatural influence over the darkspawn could perhaps be turned to our favor. It is clear the darkspawn will never bow to human commands, but this Corypheus seems at times more human than beast. I have conversed with it, and though its thoughts are disordered and inhuman, it speaks of the Old Gods by their Tevinter names. I have wondered if perhaps he is no darkspawn at all, but a ghoul, so corrupted by the Taint as to have become a new creature entirely._

_"I recommend we find a way to capture Corypheus, hold it somewhere safe from both men and darkspawn, and study its unique nature. This will require magic, however, for Corypheus' own abilities are powerful. It uses spells both human and Tainted, and has a strength that would shame any magister. We must muster our best mages to face it and to hold it. I shall send my findings to the First Warden."_

"And it's signed by Warden-Commander Farele and dated 1004 TE. A long time ago."

"Pre-Andrastean!" Bethany said in amazement. "That must date to the First Blight... or a little after."

"The Wardens were idiots even then," Maude sneered. "It's always a bad idea to let a darkspawn live—or hostile ghouls."

"You let that crazy Messenger live on the day we saved Amaranthine," Oghren pointed out. He chuckled in fond reminiscence. "Ordered him off to Orlais, too. Wonder how that worked out…"

Everyone who had not been there turned to Maude, eyes full of inquiry. She scowled.

"He was all right. He meant well. He helped us fight the attacking darkspawn, didn't he? Showed some seriously good swordsmanship. And I still think he was probably a Warden-turned-ghoul, rather than a darkspawn. He was like a real person. Maybe he was like poor Larius, only farther gone in ghoulification."

Loghain thought more about Corypheus. He sounded genuinely dangerous. Why study him? Why allow him to live on, if the Wardens were _done _studying him? And where had the Wardens found him? In the Deep Roads? Or elsewhere? Perhaps they would find more answers as they explored further.

More cells, more Bindings, more demons. Bethany and Adam looked forward to breaking the Bindings, if only for the chance to hear their father's voice again. One magical echo was particularly poignant:

_"I've bought our freedom, Leandra. We can go home now, us and the baby. I hope it takes after you, love. I would wish this magic on no one. May it never know what I did here."_

"He's talking about you, Adam." Bethany said softly. "This must have happened when Mother was expecting you." She smiled wistfully. "If he didn't want his child to be a mage, it never showed in my training."

"He did a brilliant job," Ambrose agreed kindly. "You're wonderfully well trained. The Circle could have done no better for you."

"Except for not learning Old Tevinter," she complained. "I did learn a bit, but we had only so many books!"

"If I had a proper text, I could help you learn more," Ambrose offered.

"That reminds me," Maude said. "We were going to rifle the library at the Circle. I wonder if I could talk Meredith Stannard into letting me poke around the Circle's library here."

"I think you'd have a better chance of wheedling the secret of _gaatlok_ out of the Arishok," retorted Hawke.

Maude glanced at Loghain, and gave him a wink. She waited until the Hawkes were a little farther away, and then spoke softly.

"Here's what I think happened: the Wardens felt the wards weakening, and so they captured a poor apostate and blackmailed him into fixing the place. I suppose he was lucky they didn't leave him here to die."

"They were lucky he was a competent mage," Loghain agreed. "Otherwise, this place would have collapsed long ago, and we probably would already have heard of Corypheus."

They continued their meticulous search of the cells, in between savage fights with random bands of darkspawn. In a chest, Varric found a dagger of black iron, whose blade bore a tracery of lyrium.

"Be careful," Ambrose advised. "The inscription says it's Dumat's Sacrificial Dagger!"

"Ooo!" cried Maude. "Read it all, Ambrose!"

"It's more instructions for making an offering to Dumat. It says_, Raise your face and hands to the skies and speak these words: _

_'O Dumat! O Lord of Silence! Accept these sacrifices made in your name! Grant us your power, and all that we seek!'"_

"A matched set!" Maude said cheerily. "It goes gorgeously with the crown. Maybe Dumat had good taste, after all."

They eventually came to yet another round chamber, and the second seal. Here, the release of magic nearly knocked them off their feet. There was another spectral ogre, and Bethany's staff radiated sparks again after its satisfying demise.

"That's going to be an amazing staff," Merrill said, with the slightest hint of envy.

* * *

They made yet another descent down a very, very long staircase, and they found themselves at the dark base of the structure. Dim green light filtered in. Mist rose from fetid hollows. The stink was vile. There was a scrabbling ahead, and a pack of what looked like ugly, leathery green chickens scampered away into the shadows. The dogs growled, eager to loosed on the hunt.

"Deepstalkers!" Oghren shouted in disgust. "Sodding little bastards. Who knows what else lives down here?"

They found out, soon enough. Darkspawn, deepstalkers, and giant spiders lived down there. They had also died down there, adding the overall stench. The party came across more of the unusually powerful genlocks, and afterwards found a sepulchre that seemed to have belonged to one of the early Warden commandants of the prison, who by his bones, had been a dwarf. They looted it, of course. There was some nicely worked gold there.

They found other traces of those who had gone before. Weapons, of course. Bits of Grey Warden armor. Long ago, some of the Legion of the Dead had come through, searching for the lost son of a dwarven Paragon. He had perished, trapped in the Wardens' Prison. Nor had his would-be rescuers escaped.

In a mouldering chest they found more offerings to the Old God Dumat: a ritual scroll and an urn, all with rather creepy inscriptions. A squat and hideous little temple to Dumat, complete with altar and ever-burning flame, could be accessed by some stepping stones through the greenish muck. It was obviously very old: possibly one of the earliest parts of the complex.

"Who did the ancient people worship here in the old Tevinter Imperium?" Maude wondered. "I mean, before Andraste, and just after the Old Gods went wrong. It must have been terribly depressing. No wonder Andraste made such an impression. It's odd that Wardens would have a shrine to an Old God. I mean, they were founded to kill him, after all."

Isabela eyed the place with scorn. "Rivainnis have their own gods. I was hoping for the treasure chamber. I was hoping for any kind of treasure chamber. Shouldn't a temple have a treasure chamber?"

"It should. More treasure would have been nice,," said Maude, more philosophical about it all, "but it seems that the Wardens, showing uncharacteristic good sense, have chosen not to lock their gold and jewels away in an inescapable prison full of disgusting monsters. Who'd have guessed?"

"So..." Merrill began, wide-eyed. "Are we going to do the ritual?" Fenris gave her a very hard look.

"No," said Maude. _"'Gold and jewels, meat and blood?'_ Not a chance. We don't owe Dumat a thing, and he's been dead for a thousand years. Or she. The Old Gods are kind of dodgy about the gender thing. High Dragons are all female, and so it would seem that the Old Gods were really all Old Goddesses. Are Old Goddesses, if we're speaking of Razikale and Lusacan, who are presumably still getting their beauty sleep."

The Wardens pondered this silently. Loghain looked about the temple, feeling very out of place—almost disoriented. At least before Andraste, Fereldans had worshiped some decent gods of their own: the benign Lady of the Skies; the stern Korth, the Mountain Father. Their relics, at least, did not give him this _slimy_ feeling. He could see that others felt the same: Osbeck was making a gesture to ward off evil; Darrow and Kain were carefully wiping their hands after touching the walls. Hereward and Thanyra were shaking a bit. It was time to get decent people away from this ancient foulness.

They moved on, and found themselves emerging from the wet and swampy foundations up a slow incline into something that was not a cavern, but was certainly not a man-made chamber, either. More light seeped down here, and Loghain surmised that this might have been the surface before the tower was built. Now it was dirt and jagged rocks. He looked up, and through the swirling dust found that he was looking up the side of the tower. Far above, he could see the labyrinth of bridges and balconies, like spokes in a wheel.

They came upon the remains of a long-deserted campsite and there found more evidence of the Wardens: skeletons and a weathered journal bearing the Grey Warden's seal. This appeared to be comparatively recent, as it was written in the Common Tongue in a legible script.

"I like this," Maude mused, turning over a page.

_"Speculations on Kirkwall_

_The records say Corypheus has been trapped below the Vimmarks since the days of the Tevinter Imperium. Can it be a coincidence that the darkspawn besiege this area more fiercely than anywhere else on the surface of Thedas? Or that Kirkwall, the closest city, suffers from endless plagues of violence, lunacy, human sacrifice, and blood magic?_

_"If one studies Kirkwall's public records, it becomes hard to deny that some malevolent force has long shaped its history. Could a darkspawn, even a powerful mage, have such influence even as it slumbers?"_

Maude snapped the book shut.

"In a word, yes."

There were some thoughtful nods. Bethany bit her lip, considering all she knew. Hawke frowned, but did not seemed inclined to dispute it. Merrill looked mildly frightened, and started fidgeting.

"Well," said Maude, "I'm glad to find a kindred spirit here, even though long dead and anonymous. I think this Unknown Warden has hit on something profoundly true."

Fenris said quietly, "KIrkwall was an evil place, long before the First Blight, but one cannot deny that such a creature might be a malignant influence."

The path began spiraling around the base of the tower, leading up toward a low arched door.

Loghain grunted in relief. "From now on, we go up." He glanced at Maude who seemed distracted. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"A voice in my head," she whispered. "Do you hear him? I think it's Corypheus."

A shiver of fear. Loghain composed himself. Perhaps, just on the edge of consciousness...

"A presence, perhaps. I hear no words."

"I do. Most of it's nonsense, of course. Don't make a big thing of it. I've been tainted longer than anyone else here. It's not surprising I'd hear him best." She made a face. "I thought the Song of the Old Gods was supposed to be beautiful. Corypheus is sort of like a clanging gong. Not at all nice."

And at the center of the tower's foundation, they found another seal. This was much like the others, though now they knew what to expect and were better prepared. Bethany tapped the seal with her staff, Hawke cut himself, the ogre—now more powerful—manifested, and they destroyed it. The power Bethany drew into her staff this time made her sit down suddenly. Ambrose performed the healing and regenerative spells, while Bethany caught her breath. The seal chamber led out to a walkway that resembled the bridges higher up. The earth shook briefly.

Merrill whispered, "Something's happening...

* * *

Larius appeared again, lurking at the end of a bridge.

"Where'd he come from?" Kain asked, surprised. "Used a short-cut, maybe?"

Darrow chuckled. "Reckon it was another Grey Warden _secret."_

The ghoul babbled at them, hurrying their way.

"He feels the seals weaken. He's knows that you are close. We must hurry!" The ghoul's head snapped up. Horror filled the filmy eyes. Loghain hefted his sword warily, as Larius wailed, "No! No! They are here!"

Hawke muttered, "More voices in his head?"

Loghain snarled, impatient with all the mystery. "Who's here? More of the Carta?"

"No!" Larius warned them. "Worse. More treacherous. More dangerous. Grey Wardens. They listen to Corypheus. They seek to free him. You must stop them!"

Loghain felt it too, then, the subtle change in the feel of darkspawn. Maude and he glanced at each other. A smile bloomed on her lips.

"Wardens? This should be interesting..."

Four Wardens emerged from a doorway. They were nicely arrayed in the Warden uniform of Tantervale: blue leather and silvery mail, all flourished with griffons, in case they forgot who they were. The leader was a good-looking woman in late middle-age: a human mage with vividly green eyes. For a moment the Tantervale Wardens stopped and stared in surprise and consternation.

The woman exclaimed, "Who are you? You have the Key! And you've come through the seals, but how..."

One of the Wardens, a tall man with prematurely white hair, gaped at Larius.

"The Warden-Commander!"

Valentine pushed to the front and stood by Loghain. "Hullo, Janeka," he said.

The green-eyed mage barely took notice of Valentine, and her gaze slid scornfully from the ruined Larius. Instead, her eyes were fixed on Loghain, and she blinked. Loghain caught the exact moment when she realized who he was.

"You...are Loghain of Ferelden," she said slowly. The Tantervale Wardens were rocked by her words, and began murmuring to each other in amazement.

"That is the Archdemon armor!" whispered one. "It can be nothing else!"

The woman raised her hand to silence them.

"I am Senior Warden Janeka. I lead this unit of Grey Wardens. Why are you here?"

There seemed little reason to prevaricate.

"One of my Wardens was attacked by Carta dwarves turned ghouls. They made clear they wished to abduct her and bring her to a creature named Corypheus. As it seemed likely that more would follow unless the problem was dealt with swiftly, I decided to root out the problem myself." He gave the woman a hard look. "If the Wardens were not so stupidly secretive—and so criminally careless—this problem would not have arisen at all. Apparently my Warden's father was forced to perform some magical tasks here."

"That is...true," Janeka confessed, clearly taken aback by Loghain's presence. "Without Malcolm Hawke this prison would have fallen twenty-five years ago." She cleared her throat and continued.

"The Grey Wardens built this prison to contain one of the most powerful darkspawn ever encountered, but even the best magic fades. The Wardens needed to reinforce the seals. The ritual required the blood of a mage untainted by...Warden training. The last to perform the ritual was Malcolm Hawke."

Adam Hawke sighed heavily. "Why do my family stories never involve embarrassing vacations in Antiva?"

"Blood Magic is wrong," Bethany said fiercely. "And the Wardens were wrong to force my father to do it!"

Janeka waved a dismissive hand. "To avert the Blights, Grey Wardens must do what is necessary."

"That's an argument we have to guard against," Bethany said hotly. "My father _knew_ that!"

Janeka shrugged. "He was not given a choice. He was well paid for his services." She turned to Loghain, and spoke urgently. "We need the Hawkes' help. I have done research. I believe the original Wardens were wrong. Corypheus is not a danger! He's our greatest opportunity! He can talk, feel, reason! He wants to end the Blights. The search for the Old Gods comes at a terrible cost to his people. I know how to harness Corypheus...use his magic to end the Blights."

"A deal with a darkspawn?" Maude asked acidly. "Never a good idea. You think you can control him? I find that hard to believe."

"Corypheus cares nothing for the Blights," Larius agreed. "He has used you, Janeka. He speaks to you, and you believe his ideas are yours."

The Tantervale Wardens were wavering, impressed by Loghain, and shaken by the appearance of their former commander. Janeka whirled on them, shouting.

"Ignore this...creature! He's nearly a darkspawn himself!"

Larius broke in, shaking his balding head. "No! The Wardens knew! Corypheus is too powerful. Corypheus calls her, and she listens. She brought in the Carta...and sent them to you."

Janeka threw Larius a filthy look, and turned to Loghain, fuming. "You _must_ help us! The Blights must end! How many died in Ferelden alone? And that was the least of the Blights!"

That was entirely the wrong thing to say. All three dogs began growling.

_"'Least of the Blights'?"_ Maude said, her voice dangerously sweet. Some of their own people began backing away._"'Least of the Blights?'_ How the _fuck_ would you know? You Wardens in the Free Marches sat on your dead arses the entire time! Maybe," she snarled, her face close to Janeka's,"Maybe the Blight was brief _because we are just that good!"_

"Enough, Maude," Loghain said. He minced no words with the Marcher Wardens. "Corypheus may be a threat as great as a Blight. He dies here and now,"

"We'll do this with or without you!" Janeka shouted back. "This prison will be broken! The Blights will end!"

Before the woman could raise her staff, Ambrose shot her with a bolt of paralysis. Janeka, caught entirely by surprise, seized up and toppled over. Loghain raised his brows at the mage, and Ambrose grimaced in apology.

"Just trying to spare her life, Commander. Let's tie her up and see if her mind clears once we get her out of here."

"That's very nice of you," Maude praised him. "I hope it's properly appreciated." She looked darkly at the three remaining Tantervale Wardens, who were gripping their swords, backs to one another.

"You can fight me, if that's what you want," Loghain told them grimly. "You'll die, of course, but just as you like."

"Don't be stupid!" Valentine pleaded. "Ranulph! Vickery! Use your heads! Come on, Theo! This is _Loghain!_ You don't stand a chance! Besides, Janeka's obviously being controlled by that creature!"

"What are you going to do?" the white-haired Warden Valentine called Ranulph asked, licking his lips nervously.

Loghain said, "We're going to do what the Wardens should have done from the beginning. We're going to destroy Corypheus."

The Tantervale Wardens looked at each other, and then nodded in surrender. "We're with you, Commander Loghain."

"I'm so glad!" Maude enthused. "It would have been very disagreeable to kill other Wardens. Now we can concentrate on what's important. There's an ancient saying: _'The only good ancient darkspawn is a dead ancient darkspawn!'"_

Varric snorted. "There is no such saying, Princess!"

Maude beamed at him. "There is now!"

As they ascended the central tower, Maude talked to the other Wardens convincingly and soothingly, telling them about the Architect and his lying promises.

"—And then he let slip that he started the Blight himself, mucking about with the Old God Urthemiel! Of course we want to end the Blights, but it's not reasonable to expect darkspawn to have the same agenda. Even if they were not tunneling for an Old God, they'dstill plague our allies the dwarves, and they'd still steal women to replenish their numbers..."

None of the Wardens had ever seen a Broodmother, and so Maude had to explain that to them as well. Things were settling down fairly well, up until the time they came to a large hall.

A handful of dwarves rushed through another door. One pointed at the Wardens and shouted, "There! Those are the Hawkes! The others are to be killed!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Maude snapped. She turned to Loghain in disgust. "If I tried, I could convince them, but I just don't care."

"To arms!" shouted the dwarf leader. "And pray that Corypheus honors our sacrifice!"

Larius was still pretty good with a sword. They fought their way up through the central tower, slaying the last of the Carta zealots. In a dingy stone chamber they found a last piece of parchment: another ancient document in Old Tevinter, which was a copy of a memorandum send in 1014 TE from Warden-Commander Daneken to the First Warden in Weisshaupt.

_"I was wrong. We cannot control the creature Corypheus. Even our most powerful mages hold no influence with him. In truth, it is they who have been most vulnerable._

_"A dozen times, those assigned to guard or study the creature have sought the Key to free him. When they are removed to a safe distance, they remember little. They speak of a voice in their minds, a calling like that of the Old Gods, but it wanes outside Corypheus's presence._

_"Darkspawn have attacked as well, seeking him. I can only assume they are summoned the same way. Somehow his magic lets him speak through the Blight itself, affecting any who bear its Taint._

_"The same power stays the hand of any Warden who approaches to kill him. I must recommend that we seal this prison over and conceal its very existence. Corypheus must not be allowed to go free."_

"Well," Maude said brightly. "There you are. We can't set Corypheus free. The seals are broken or breaking, so the only thing left is to kill him."

"But," the Warden named Vickery quavered, "It says that Wardens _can't_ kill him!"

"We're not all Wardens," Loghain said thoughtfully. "As long as we can still fight and distract him, perhaps that will be enough. And our other companions may have the honor of slaying an ancient enemy."

* * *

Endless climbing; endless stairs. Not endless Carta dwarves, demons, or darkspawn, however. Loghain found they had no more enemies but their own weariness. At the top of the last staircase they found themselves outside in the chill of a desert night, the dim stars flickering overhead. They had reached the top of the central tower, and only a single bridge separated them from the last, most desperate challenge.

"This is nice!" Varric remarked. "I was just trying to picture a really grim and forbidding landscape, and here we are!" Maude grinned, and elbowed him. Together, they marched to the resting place of Corypheus.

Forbidding? Yes, Loghain decided. Eerie, menacing...what have you. The top of the tower was open at the sides, and four gilded griffons watched over the seal in the inlaid floor. Trickles of shining magic filtered from the griffons' mouths, like golden smoke. The beams converged on the seal, bathing it in mystical light. Even Loghain, prosaic as he was, could feel that this place was a powerful magical nexus. Magic shivered up and down his spine; what it must feel like to the mages he could not imagine.

Larius shambled ahead.

"He stirs! He wakes! Do not let him gather his full strength. Use the Hawke's blood! Free him, and slay him!"

It seemed a good idea to have a look at the ground before rushing into battle. The mages determined that the griffons grounded the containment spell. Each was carefully disarmed, and the golden light faded, replaced by a baleful green glow.

Bethany rapped the seal with the staff, and Hawke gashed his forearm once again.

The seal dissolved. They braced themselves for a burst of a light and another ogre. Instead, there was a silence, and then a long, attenuated figure floated up from the black hole gaping in the middle of the floor. Something not quite human, but not like a darkspawn, either. Half of the gaunt face was nearly normal; the other half appeared to be crystallizing into slabs of stone. The limbs were grotesquely long and emaciated; the appendages on the arms more claws than hands. Ragged, decaying finery trailed on an uncanny breeze. The creature came to a stop three feet from the floor, and opened its eyes. Loghain scowled. He was almost certain that this was no darkspawn. It was Blighted, true; but it had never issued from a Broodmother. This was a ruined human being; distorted and warped by evil magic and the Taint.

A gravelly voice issued forth. "Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands?"

Maude whispered to Ambrose, "He's speaking the Common Tongue! Where did he learn it? I thought he'd speak Tevinter!"

"I thought so too!" Ambrose hissed back. "Maybe he learned it when he was messing with the dwarves' minds!"

Corypheus' head turned slowly, taking in the crowd of mages, warriors, and dogs before him. His eyes fastened on Loghain, the tallest and most grandly attired. He pointed a bony finger his way and began issuing commands.

"You! Serve you at the temple of Dumat? Bring me hence! I must speak with the First Acolyte!"

Loghain took a deep, calming breath. Fenris, he decided, was totally correct about Tevinter mages. Arrogant bastards.

"I think... not."

Corypheus stared at him, nonplussed by his disobedience. He narrowed his eyes, bewildered by the appearance of the people before him.

"You look human. Are you not citizens of the Empire? Slaves, then, to the dwarves? Why come you here? Whoever you be, you owe fealty to any magister of Tevinter. On your knees! All of you!" His gaze shifted to Adam and Bethany, and became sly and cruel.

"You are what held me. I smell the blood in you." He lifted his voice to the unheeding skies.

"Dumat! Lord ! Tell me! How long have I slumbered? What waking dream is this?

Larius whispered, "He slept. He knows nothing of the time. We must kill him now."

Yes, well, that was what they were here for, after all. Loghain shook himself, uneasy at having been so enthralled by the creature. With a shout, he charged. The dogs burst into ferocious barking, and rushed along at his heels.

Maude and Hawke were in the vanguard, swords at the ready. Fenris, too, felt no awe of the creature. After the initial hesitation, the rest joined the fray.

The mages were essential to the fight. Corypheus was immensely powerful, and could knock any of them down with a wave of his absurdly long fingernails, but their mages had tricks of their own. Not one of them had the raw power of an ancient magister, but they knew many spells that Corypheus had not learned in his thousand years of sleep. That crushing spell that all three of them knew was particularly effective, and the magister knew no way to counter it, other than shooting huge blasts of fire.

"Crude elemental spells!" Ambrose shouted. "No finesse!"

"Just keep him slowed down!" Loghain shouted back.

It was hard to lay a blade to Corypheus' flesh. Loghain found himself hesitating at critical moments, shrinking back reluctantly. Was it the magister's power over any other Tainted being? Hawke and Fenris, Isabela, and Varric, he saw, had no such scruples. They had been warned of this, and it seemed the warning was valid. What the Wardens could do was make themselves targets, while Hawke and his friends dealt the real damage.

They were getting hurt, too. Random flashes of lightning split the air and sizzled on armor. On bare skin and fur, too. Howls of pain blended with the oaths and battlecries. They were wearing Corypheus down, but horribly slowly. He unleashed a storm of ice that sucked the breath from Loghain's lungs. As he stumbled, Isabela leap-frogged over his back and scissored her blades into the magister's skeletal chest. Another blast of energy, and the pirate was knocked flying. Maude swore, and then danced in front of Corypheus, distracting him.

"Behind the times, aren't you?" she mocked. "A Fereldan girl kicked your blighted Tevinter arses a thousand years ago. And this Fereldan girl can kick yours _all...day...long!"_

Out of a pocket she pulled a handful of little purple balls. To the magister's utter confusion, she tossed one in the air, and then another, and then began juggling all five in a breathless cascade.

"Don't everyone stop and stare!" she shouted. "Corypheus! Meet Urthemiel!"

With that, she threw a ball at Corypheus, hitting him squarely on the nose. Two, three, four, and five followed. The magister exploded in outrage. Maude scooped up her juggling balls and ran circles around him, while he shot actinic bolts of lightning after her. The air smelled of ozone and frost. The Wardens jeered and dodged, while Hawke and his friends went in for the kill. The dogs bayed, running in and out, nipping at the magister's ankles.

The end, when it came, was anticlimactic. Corypheus was trying to roast Osbeck in his armor, when Hawke leaped at him from behind and spitted him on his sword. The point exploded out through the magister's ribs in a bloody spray. Corypheus cried out and shuddered, and then fell, first to his knees, cursing in his ancient tongue, and then sideways, dead.

Maude stood over the creature, immensely pleased, and gave Hawke a hearty back slap.

"Ooo! Well done, that." She leaned closer, spotted gold, and ripped an amulet from the scrawny dead neck. "You shouldn't touch this," she informed Hawke. "It's all Tainted and Blightish."

Ambrose and Bethany had no such limitations. They passed the trinket from hand to hand, studying the arcane symbols.

"Corypheus really was a Tainted ancient magister," Ambrose marveled. "I always thought the Chantry's story of the origins of the darkspawn was just a myth."

"It might still be," Maude pointed out. "It could be allegory. It could be that Corypheus was totally off his head. And even if it's true, it doesn't justify the Chantry punishing mages a thousand years later."

Fenris stepped forward, his handsome face tense with loathing. "But the Tevinter magisters are a breed apart. You do not know them as I do. If this is what they sprang from, then much is now explained."

Loghain took a brief look at the aftermath and started making plans. All the magical fields appeared to be have sputtered into nothing. They needed to retrieve Janeka, find their wagons, have a hot meal, and head back to Kirkwall. After that...

"You did well, Loghain," Larius said, his voice deep and steady. Loghain was surprised to find the ghoul standing next to him. "More than the Wardens of old could accomplish. I will never forget what you did here."

Loghain looked at him keenly. "You sound different," he remarked.

"My head is clear now. I can think again. My gratitude you have for my freedom."

Maude paused, and studied the ghoul from the corner of her eye, her head down. She walked quickly over to the Hawkes, where Bethany was healing her brother's arm.

"Freedom?' Loghain said, wiping his sword. He was puzzled. What freedom could a Warden so Tainted hope for? Did he not still hear the Calling? "Do you intend to go to Orzammar and—"

Hawke was on them in a quick, silent rush. The pommel of his sound smashed into the back of Larius' head, and as the ghoul fell, Hawke sheared off his head with a single blow.

Loghain was falling backwards, grabbed from behind. He crashed to the floor, and heard an "Oooof!" as his fall was broken by something softer than stone. Unholy yells and barking rose up in response to Hawke's attack. A thin black mist floated away from Larius' corpse, and then dissipated in the cool breeze.

"Ow! Loghain, you weigh a ton!" Maude complained. "Get off me!"

"What have you done?" shouted Valentine. "You killed a Warden!"

Hawke and his friends backed away, weapons raised. Tainted blood dripped from Adam's sword. Bethany looked back and forth between her brother and her Warden friends, not sure what to do.

_"Everybody calm down!"_ Maude shouted, her voice vibrating with power. She bounced to her feet, grinning at Loghain. "I asked Hawke to do that."

"Why?" was the general shout.

"Yes, Maude," Loghain said more mildly. "Explain please. Not that Hawke didn't do that poor creature a favor. He spoke of freedom, but we could not allow him to leave this place to carry Blight disease. Speaking of which, Hawke, be careful to avoid the blood of Larius as well as that of the magister."

Hawke relaxed slightly, and gave Loghain a nod.

Maude said, "Corypheus played a little trick on us. My fellow Wardens must have noticed how hard it was to force ourselves to land a blow. Right up to the last moment, in fact. And then Larius stands up straight and starts talking like a book_. 'My gratitude you have for my freedom?' What_ kind of old-fashioned construction is that? But mostly, I could still _feel_ Corypheus. I could feel him before we reached the tower, I could feel him when he first spoke to us, and I could feel him after we seemed to kill him. But now I don't. He thought he'd escape by taking over Larius' weakened mind and body and then walk out of here. Ha on him. We've killed him, and now we take all his stuff."

"Sounds good to me," Isabela agreed.

Maude tossed the ancient Tevinter amulet into the air and caught it with quick juggler's fingers. Then she tossed it to Loghain.

"A souvenir of the Free Marches."

Loghain studied the sinister, glittering object. "If you're done with your treasure-hunting, perhaps we can now go home."

"Kirkwall first," Maude said cheerfully. "A bath, a fine dinner at the Viscount's expense, and complete idleness. That would be nice. We can loaf in Varric's mansion, with absolutely nothing to do."

"That would certainly have the charm of novelty, I suppose." He gave the Tantervale Wardens a grim look. "Though we still need to write a letter to your Commander. A rude one."

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Phygmalion, Kira Kyuu, Zemmiphobia, Kagehoshi, KnightOfHolyLight, Isabeau of Greenlea, Mike3207, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, lynn-writer, EpitomyofShyness, Josie Lange, stainglasspeppermint, JackOfBladesX, Jenna53, mille libri, Zute, gingergen, Oleander's One, Shakespira, Enaid Aderyn, and sizuka2._

_While I have used quite a bit of dialogue from the Legacy DLC, I have not replicated the action in its entirety. Some of the mechanics are just too repetitive and implausible, and as always, Maude has her own take on things. Let us say this was _adapted_ from the DLC._

_At the temple of Dumat, Maude neither makes the offering, nor defiles the altar, since she wants to keep the interesting artifacts they found.  
_


	48. Return of the Native Fereldan

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 48: Return of the Native Fereldan  
**

"Did you see his face?" Maude exulted, striking a triumphant pose on Adam Hawke's dining table. "Completely taken by surprise! Bet that had never happened to him in all his thousand years!"

Even in its last stages, as the guests flamed out gently into insensibility, the celebratory dinner thrown by Hawke was a night to remember. Nineteen people at dinner counted as a serious event, and the servants at the Hawke mansion were hard-pressed to throw it together in a single day.

Nineteen rather than fifteen, since Hawke was generous enough to invite the Tantervale Wardens.

* * *

After the too-long deferred demises of Corypheus and Larius, the Wardens and their friends had gone back to retrieve Janeka and all the nice bits of treasure they had been forced to leave behind while fighting.

Janeka was loaded onto her Second Ranulph's back, still unconscious. The embarrassed Ranulph, thus burdened, revealed to them the shortcuts and hidden passages that Larius and Janeka had used to bypass them. They moved quickly through the maze at the base of the tower, and quicker still up the well-worn staircases to the outer fortress. There were a lot of dead bodies, and a pleasant absence of live ones.

The strongrooms were plundered and the gold burned clean. They stepped out in the blazing desert sun of the Vimmark Chasm, and Loghain swore to himself that he would never travel to the sunny north in late spring ever again.

Their wagon guards, wonder of wonders, were still there and still alive. Loghain paid them a substantial bounty, and they turned their faces in the direction of Kirkwall. Janeka slept off Corypheus' spell in the back of the wagon. Their treasure would be shared out on their return, but the Tantervale Wardens would have nothing to do with _that._

Nonetheless, they could have dinner with them. Maude had particularly wanted it, since she looked upon it as a chance to pump them for information. A lot of what she ended up getting was local Warden post infighting and politicking, which was of interest only to the Tantervale Wardens themselves.

"I wish they'd tell us something _interesting!"_ she whispered to Loghain. "What do I care who gets to be recruit supervisor?"

Janeka was not talking much. She was terribly embarrassed about being the puppet of a thousand-year-old magister who was not even awake at the time. She had gruffly given thanks to Loghain, and shot a glare at Maude, who loftily ignored her.

But Loghain was hearing enough to make up his mind. Yes, it was just business as usual: the Tantervale Wardens were a hide-bound lot. They did their periodic training patrols, they recruited just enough to cover their losses, and they waited for the next Blight, during which they would do just as little as they had done recently.

"You _know _how it was," the Warden named Theo said to Valentine. "We had our orders. The First Warden believed that the Archdemon would strike at some more important or heavily-populated area. We were all to stand fast until we knew the real target. The rest of Thedas was safe. The darkspawn couldn't cross the Waking Sea, and they'd have to go through all of Orlais to harm anyone else. Besides, the Fereldans made clear that they didn't want our help."

"Excuse me," Maude said, unable to ignore him any longer. "Just how did I indicate that I didn't want any help? Because it was mostly just me and Alistair for about a year. I didn't even _know_ there _was_ a Grey Warden outpost in Tantervale. A hint that you existed would have been nice."

"The Warden-Commander of Orlais said—"

"Don't!" Maude snarled at him. She sat back in her chair, glaring. "Just…don't. Can the rest of Thedas not get it through their heads that Orlais is our _enemy?_ They will always screw us over whenever possible. They do not speak for us. Bastards."

Janeka spoke up then, unexpectedly and grudgingly. "There are many Orlesian Wardens in Weisshaupt. The First Warden's seneschal and his private secretary are both Orlesian. Everything he hears and reads is filtered through them. Sometimes there are…difficulties."

"That's interesting," Loghain remarked. "That clears up quite a lot of questions."

It did. It did not excuse the First Warden, who was responsible for the order, even if his greatest care was for the politics of the Anderfels. Nonetheless, much was explained. The First Warden's knowledge of Ferelden was an Orlesian's, and a hostile Orlesian's, at that.

"We should not be discussing private Warden matters," complained Vickery, "Not with…" he waved a hand toward Hawke and company, "_them_ listening."

"Who?" Maude wondered. "People?"

"Personally," Hawke said, his charming smile souring, "I do not give a shit about what the Wardens are up to. I really could not care less. Furthermore, I promise I won't remember a word of any of this tomorrow, partly due to the excellence of the wine that _I _have put on this table—"

"For which we thank you," Maude interjected, pouring herself yet more.

"—And mostly because to anyone not a Warden," Hawke continued. "Warden politics are really boring. I am interested only so far as it affects my family, and no further."

Loghain personally thought that the darkspawn were of vital importance to every living being in Thedas, but Hawke was his host, after all, and he had not the least intention of conscripting him.

It was late, and the Tantervale Wardens struggled out of their chairs and left for their rooms at a Hightown tavern. Once again, they formally thanked Loghain for saving them and the rest of the world from the threat of an ancient evil. They took Loghain's official letter with them, though they were uneasy about how their Commander would like it. After Janeka was out the door, the Warden named Theo turned and whispered to Valentine, "I'll write to you and let you know what happens!"

"Say hello to Godfrey for me!" Valentine whispered back.

"Again, Warden-Commander, my thanks!"

The door shut on them. and the rest went back to eating and drinking.

"So, Princess," Varric said to Maude, changing the subject. "What are your plans for the rest of your holiday in our fair city?"

"We doing our best to avoid having _plans,"_ Maude laughed, her good nature restored. "But I think we'd like to dress unobtrusively and see more of the city."

Loghain was blunt. "I'm interested in your defenses, especially at the harbor," he said. He was too tired and too full of wine to dance around the truth. "I want to get some idea why you couldn't keep the Qunari out. I'd like a better look at the outside of their compound, too. Maude wants to get into the Circle and steal things. And," he added, "your Viscount has asked me to call on him before our departure. Which should be the day after tomorrow."

"So soon?" Valentine mourned. "There's so much to see here!"

"Reckon we should hit up the Blooming Rose tomorrow," Darrow advised Kain in a confidential growl. Osbeck nodded sagely. Oghren cackled. Hereward glanced their way, wistfully hopeful.

"What do you want to steal at the Circle?" Hawke asked Maude, leaning around a sleeping Isabela.

"Books, mostly. I also want to look at Meredith's correspondence, and see if our friend Wynne is mentioned. She vanished at that mage's conference in Cumberland and no one will tell anybody anything. If I find out that she's been a prisoner of the Circle here, I'm going to be really, really irritated."

"We could look for phylacteries, too," Ambrose suggested. "Hard to guess where they keep them. Might be at the Circle, might be in the Chantry itself."

"Phylacteries!" Maude thumped the table. "If I had the time I'd do a thorough search for them. It seems scandalous that we permit the Chantry to keep performing blood magic! It's very wrong of them. If I find them I'll destroy them—just as I did the phylacteries in the blood mage hideout in Denerim!"

Fenris scowled, and tried to focus. "You had blood mages in Denerim?"

Maude made an expansive gesture. "A huge coven of them! They had incredibly plush digs below the surface, with banqueting halls and a nice bar and comfy bedrooms. And kennels for their evil mabari minions and even nice dormitories for their dutiful blood mage apprentices. Quite the complex. They had a chapel full of phylacteries—which we smashed, of course, and a haughty foreign mage was in charge. He thought he was all that, but I killed him just the same. After the battle of Denerim, we found a few darkspawn hiding there and cleaned the place out, but I didn't linger."

Fenris' interest had been caught by the story. "What do you suppose they wanted in Denerim?"

Maude considered. "Considering all the phylacteries, I'd say they were there to control people."

"Who?"

Loghain began to feel very uncomfortable: a crawling tickled up his spine and ruffled the back of his neck. There had been other blood mages, too: Caladrius and his "healers" who had infested the Alienage. Somehow Caladrius had managed to convince him—Loghain—that selling Fereldan elves to Tevinter was a Good Idea. It obviously was a very bad one, but at the time Caladrius had made it seem so perfectly reasonable. Rendon Howe had thought so too…

"That oily-bearded_ bastard!"_ he roared, pushing away from the table. A roasted chicken fell to the floor. The dogs were on it in a second.

"Oh, dear," Maude sighed. "I think we'd better call it a night, Hawke. Something distressing just occurred to Loghain." She patted his arm. "It's in the past, dearest, and all those blood mages are dead. Yes, they were probably all working together, busily looting Fereldan six ways from sunrise, while we were all distracted by the Blight and the war. Yes, probably one of those phylacteries was yours—it's easy enough to get hold of a warrior's blood to do him harm. But they're dead, so they can't gloat about sticking their nasty magical fingers in your mind."

Fenris did not understand the context, but looked compassionately at Loghain.

"Not all Blood Mages are wicked," Merrill objected, in a very small voice. "It's all a matter of intent…"

"Now's not the time, Daisy," counseled Varric. The little elf slid back into her chair, delicate face miserable.

The party broke up, and the Wardens headed back to their temporary digs. Fenris, who, Maude informed Loghain, squatted in the mansion of his former master, came with them, as the place was quite close to theirs.

The street opened out to the huge square in front of the Chantry. Seen by moonlight, it still looked monumental. Loghain wondered idly if he should go inside tomorrow, just to see it. He had heard it was rather grand. He shrugged. If there was time, perhaps. Anora might like to hear about it.

They turned and climbed the broad and shallow stone steps that led up to the most exclusive part of Hightown. Fenris bade them goodnight and turned left toward the decaying façade of his home. A few minutes later, the ten Wardens were near the dark doorway bearing the sigil of House Tethras, when a hooded and cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows.

"Please don't start anything with us," Maude said, her kind tones a bit sleepy. "We'll just have to kill you, which won't do you a bit of good."

"Ah, my fair Warden, you could have killed me years ago, and yet you did not. Why start now?"

"Is it—? _Zevran?" _Maude shrieked, launching herself at the grinning elf. Ranger barked, sniffed the newcomer carefully, and then politely wagged his tail. _Not_ a stranger, and one who had given treats in the past.

Loghain watched the reunion, rather appalled. The Antivan assassin had just oozed his way back into their lives.

"Old friend, I reckon," Darrow observed to his companions.

Windows around the square were opening at the noise, so Maude hustled her friend inside and began asking eager questions.

Zevran put up his hands, "It is late, I know. Word came to me that you were in Kirkwall. I have come here every night hoping to see you, but then you were away on a visit to the countryside—or so I was told."

Loghain snorted at the words. Visits to the countryside evoked pictures of cheerful rustic manors and boar hunts; fields of ripening grain and meadows of placid sheep. Their adventure to a crumbling, demon-haunted fortress in the middle of the Maker-forsaken _desert _did not quite match the words "visit to the countryside." Though perhaps that was what Antiva looked like, for all Loghain knew.

"More dogs?" Zevran said, backing away slightly from Topaz's suspicious examination. "Ah, how I have missed Ferelden!"

Oghren greeted the elf with cross-eyed good cheer. He was, after all, _exceptionally _drunk.

"It's the elf!" he said, puzzled. "He's back!"

"Hello, my stout little friend!" Zevran greeted him, slapping his back. "I'd remember the smell anywhere!"

"No uncalled-for racial remarks," Loghain ordered. "It's late. Wardens—this is Zevran Aranai, formerly of the Blight Companions. Darrow, find Zevran a bunk."

"Have you had dinner?" Maude asked anxiously. "There's quite a bit in the pantry…"

"My Warden, I am fine," the handsome elf assured her. "I am not alone in the city and must leave soon, lest my companions become alarmed. While it is indeed late, it is best that I tell you my business in Kirkwall now, for it is an affair better conducted in darkness."

Loghain rolled his eyes, but there was no help for it. "All right. We'll hear you out. Wardens, go to bed. Zevran, come to the library."

"I'll make some tea," said Maude, "It might help me stay awake. We've had a pretty strenuous time in the Vimmarks, Zevran."

The fireplace in the study had a gadget for holding a tea kettle. Maude put some water on the boil, and then dashed to the pantry to bring them some fruit and little cakes. The dogs, reassured that Zevran was a suitable guest, flopped on the incredibly expensive Antivan silk carpet in the library and went promptly to sleep. Topaz's head was on Zevran's boot. He carefully moved his foot away.

"We have wine, if you'd prefer," Maude said, settling into a cushioned chair.

"I am quivering in the anticipation of once again tasting Highever Honeygrass tea," Zevran smiled. "It has been too long."

While Maude played hostess, Loghain cut to the heart of things. "What has brought you to Kirkwall—and to us?"

"Ah, Loghain…ever the laconic man of action. No pleasantries? No, _'How have you been, Zevran?'_ No?"

"How have you been, Zevran?" asked a smiling Maude, handing him a teacup.

"I am well. Life has not ceased to be complicated, however." He took a careful sip of tea. "And you? You are well? I am pleased to see that you remain amongst the most beautiful women of my acquaintance."

"I am wonderfully well, thank you. I had a baby in Drakonis." Seeing Zevran's raised, interested brow, she told him. "His name is Gareth, and he is the sweetest boy in the world, and I would never, never have left him, if we hadn't had to deal with some impudent people who attacked us. That's why we plan to leave Kirkwall the day after tomorrow, or as soon as the ship is ready."

Zevran considered her words. "You are leaving Kirkwall…and soon. That would work well."

Maude beamed, delighted. "You're coming back to Ferelden with us? I want you to see Gareth…I want you to see what we've done with Soldier's Peak. It's gorgeous!"

The elf sighed. "No, alas. I cannot." He smiled ruefully at Maude's disappointment. "My affairs with the Crows are not yet settled, and I took time from them to deal with the matter that brought me south. Originally, I believed that I would indeed have to sail to Ferelden, but now that you are here, the affair can be managed in a much more efficient fashion. You have your own ship, I have learned."

Loghain narrowed his eyes at the debonair assassin. "You want us to smuggle something into Ferelden for you."

"It is not a matter of 'what' so much as 'whom,'" said Zevran. "but smuggle? Yes, I want you to smuggle someone _out _of the Free Marches," His smile broadened as Loghain's frown deepened. "An old friend, in fact. I could not believe it when I came across her in the city of Bastion. She was much changed, and in the simplest of garb, but I could not forget the divine and magical bosom of—"

"Wynne!" Maude cried. "You've found her? She's here?"

"_Calmatevi,_ my Warden! Be calm. She is safe for now, in the filthy rathole they call Darktown, but the Templars are everywhere in this miserable place. The ship I bought passage on was supposed to go to Amaranthine, but there was a storm, and we put in at Ostwick, and then when we were underway, I discovered that the captain found it convenient to take valuable cargo to Kirkwall first. By then, our money was running low, and there were those who were watching us. The reward for informing on apostates is always a pleasant sum," he added with a bitter smile. "We thought it wise to depart from the ship one night when it put in at a village on the coast for fresh water. The journey, not to make a long story of it, was perilous and disagreeable. We managed to slip into the city, since here we would not be set upon by wild beasts, but the people are in some ways just as bad."

"Why didn't she come with you tonight?" Loghain asked. He and Wynne were hardly friends, but Anora liked her, and it would be a very good thing for the royal family to have such an excellent Healer in attendance. Besides, he was inclined to be helpful, now that he knew that the Crow would _not_ be coming to Ferelden, to revive the nasty gossip his handsome appearance and friendship with Maude had previously occasioned.

Zevran grimaced. "We are not alone. There are others in her party, and she remained to protect them. When the Starkhaven Circle burned, the mages fled and dispersed all over the Free Marches. Some of them…were children. Wynne could not desert the little ones, and would not stay to see them fall victim to the Right of Annulment. The Templars of Starkhaven were very, _very_ angry."

Mage children. There was a complication, indeed. Surely the children would not be harmed if they were taken to the Circle here in Kirkwall? Or… perhaps that was not a solution. He pictured Knight-Commander Meredith's stony, implacable face in his mind's eye. Perhaps not.

"Darktown, Darktown…" Maude muttered to herself, getting up and pacing. "Bethany told me about the Hawke mansion. There's a way through the cellars that connects to Darktown. It would be quicker and safer than going through the streets to Lowtown and then to the tunnels. Then it's not far from Hawke's house to ours."

Loghain downed his tea, hoping it would clear his head. If they were going to fetch Wynne, they should do it immediately.

"Just how many children are there?"

Zevran tried to look innocent. Loghain would have laughed if he had not been so tired.

"Er….five. And for that reason, if I may, I shall take along some of these delicious treats. They will be hungry." The elf produced a net bag from a pocket, and began cramming the cakes and fruit into it.

It could have been worse. It could have been twenty-five. Five children were not impossible to deal with, even mage children, given that they had mages to keep watch on them.

"All right. Let's go."

"I'll get Bethany," Maude said. "Her brother is less likely to be annoyed if she's in the party."

"Someone needs to know that we're going out," Loghain told Zevran.

He stopped by the men's quarters to wake Darrow, and tell him the plan. Darrow staggered up to keep watch at the door, fortified by a large mug of tea.

They waited while Maude ran upstairs to the room Bethany was sharing with Thanyra. It took a few minutes. Bethany came downstairs, looking tired, but not half-unconscious.

"I used a rejuvenation spell on myself," she told Loghain. "Anybody else want one?"

Everyone did.

* * *

Hawke was not easily roused, but they knew where his bedroom window was, and Maude tossed pebbles at it until he looked out, rumpled and enraged.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"No, not really," Maude admitted cheerfully. "But we need to talk to you. Emergency."

So the big front door was unbolted, and they piled in, demanding the keys to the cellars from a half-naked Hawke. In a few moments Zevran was introduced and the tale was told. Isabela swaggered down the stairs, clad only in a sheet, which was draped with a cynical subversion of modesty.

"Isabela!" cried Zevran. "This is indeed a night of nights!"

"It _was_, until people interrupted," Isabela shrugged. "Hullo, Zevran. Haven't seen you since Denerim. You look," she winked, _"fit."_

"Isabela!" Hawke remonstrated.

"No lovers' quarrels, if that's quite all right with you, " Loghain interposed. "We just want to get to Darktown by the shortest, most secret way and retrieve an old companion."

"Not as young as she once was," Zevran agreed with some sincerity. "The past year has been difficult for her."

"I'd better go with you," Hawke said. "I'll throw on my gear and get the cellar key."

"If he goes, I go!" Isabela declared, still a bit drunk. "If I can find my left boot," she added under her breath. She ran up the stairs after her lover, giving them a clear and unimpeded view of her admirable behind, and just as she got to the doorway of the Hawke's bedchamber, she abandoned the sheet altogether.

Zevran sighed. "Ah, the remembrance of things past…"

Loghain hoped there would not be trouble. "You knew Isabela during the Blight, then?"

"Loghain, my friend," declared Zevran, "I _knew_ Isabela long before the Blight. It is I who rescued her from a serious inconvenience!"

"What inconvenience?" Bethany asked.

"A very unpleasant husband," Zevran confessed. "What? It is not as if she had any say in her marriage. Her mother sold her to that pig, and she wished to free, like anyone else! I did not find her ungrateful."

Maude, of course, came to the elf's defense at once. "I'm sure you did not. It was very considerate of you."

Loghain gritted his teeth. Zevran had always been a _terrible _influence on Maude.

Luckily, Hawke could arm himself quickly, and Isabela wore so little that she was downstairs beside him directly. Soon they were exploring Hawke's kitchen and pantries. Here Hawke passed out some lanterns, and lit them with flint and tinder. Then they moved quietly past the servants' sleeping quarters. Beyond that was a heavy iron-shod door that Hawke unlocked with a huge key. This led past more doors, one of which was obviously a treasure-vault. Maude's speculative gaze slid over it, and she grinned at Loghain.

He frowned at her repressively. They were _not_ going to steal from allies. They had already made a great deal of coin of this journey.

Down some creaking stairs, they found storerooms: a huge multi-leveled maze of them. As they passed through, Maude kept up a running commentary, telling Zevran the story of the past year and a half.

"Alistair and Anora have a little girl—Princess Rhoswyn. She's a darling little girl, and Alistair's a ridiculously doting parent. My brother Fergus married Ser Cauthrien! Yes! And they have a little boy named Caradoc and Loghain was godfather. And my little Gareth is Teyrn of Gwaren, and I'm his Regent, which is lots of fun. Leliana went off with Riordan. He died not long ago, and Leliana stayed in Orlais and has joined the order of the Seekers, even though she's a Grey Warden, and I'm not happy about that."

"And the magnificent Morrigan?" the elf asked.

"Oh, she's as magnificent as ever, and still with us. She's in Highever, right now, keeping an eye on Gareth while we're gone. She has a lover—a Grey Warden mage named Anders, and she keeps him up to the mark, I can tell you! And we met some darkspawn who could talk, and we killed them, but they were pretty startling. And I've completely renovated Soldier's Peak, and it's gorgeous. Oghren is a Grey Warden, too, as I'm sure you noticed, and he's married and his little girl was named after me!"

"So why are you in Kirkwall in the first place?" Zevran wanted to know.

"Crazy Grey Warden business. Some ghouls attacked one of our people and we had to root out the problem at the source. And we did."

They came to a series of long, cobwebbed halls that eventually led down more stairs and toward another heavy door. Hawke unlocked it, and they found themselves in dim light.

"Careful," Hawke said. "There's a lot of rubble and refuse here. I don't clear it away because it camouflages the door."

Raising his lantern and wrinkling his nose, Loghain followed his host carefully through the narrow passage; stepping over unsavory heaps and rotting piles, ducking under sagging beams. The close air stank of damp and human waste. He stepped out into a wider, low-ceilinged space. Voices echoed along the moisture-stained corridors. The light revealed rickety staircases leading up and down past rough stone pillars. To one side, Loghain saw that part of the walls did not reach the ceiling. In the gap, the dim light of a crescent moon leaked through, helping them find their way.

This then, was Darktown, and a wretched place it was.

Impossible to pass unnoticed. Ragged people were squatting around smoky little fires in nearly every corner. Rat turned on spits—some of them not very well skinned or gutted beforehand. Sunken eyes peered at them from dirty, hungry faces, and now and then their lantern light was reflected in a knife blade. No one dared attack such a well-armed party, but their presence was noted, and clearly resented.

It took a bit of effort for Zevran to orient himself to this part of Darktown, since he was entering it from an unfamiliar direction. Hawke and Isabela, however, knew Darktown well, and in no time they were heading down a narrow passage, around a sharp bend, and into a foul-smelling passage. Before another turn, Zevran paused, and whispered, "Grandmother?"

Wynne's voice whispered, "Zathrian?"

"Zathrian!" snorted Maude. She grinned at the elf. "Zathrian. That's great."

Zevran shrugged elaborately. "I, too, am a leader of my people."

"Maude?" Wynne's face appeared around the corner, shadowy and fearful. "Is that you?"

There were squeaks and rustles behind her.

"It's me," Maude answered. "And some friends. And Ze…Zathrian's got treats for everyone."

They stepped around the wall and found themselves in a little hideyhole of a room, rough-boarded and decaying. It was dimly illuminated by a pair of candle stubs. Their own lanterns cast wild and complex patterns of light on the interior.

Loghain took in the occupants with a swift glance. Three of the children were quite young: no more than five. There was a boy of perhaps eight, though he was too thin and wasted to be certain. Looking more closely, Loghain realized he was an elf, and thus probably a bit older than Loghain had first thought. A girl of twelve or thirteen stood in front of the other children, arms out protectively. She shrank back a bit at the sight of Loghain and Hawke, and swallowed convulsively; but set her jaw and did not move aside.

And Wynne was there, looking so different from her former self that Loghain almost did not recognize her. It was hard to tell, in the wavering light, but Wynne appeared to have grown notably older, her face thinner and more haggard. Her white hair, formerly so neatly pulled back from her face, had been shorn nearly to her scalp. Instead of her elaborate mage's robes, she was wearing the plain wool and linen of a commoner, very soiled and shabby. Loghain saw no staff, but there was a tall and heavy walking stick marked with some shallow carvings.

"Loghain," Wynne said flatly.

"Wynne," Loghain replied.

"Wynne!" Maude greeted her, with quiet warmth and a quick hug. "We're so happy to find you! We've written and written, and so did Alistair and Anora, but no one would tell us anything! You were at Starkhaven all the time. I'd guessed Cumberland or Kirkwall, and I was planning to get into the Circle and look for you here. And I see you have some apprentices with you!"

"Did you bring anything to eat?" a small girl asked Zevran rather plaintively.

"I did, little one." He produced his bag and shared out the apples, then smiled as they squealed over the cakes. Meanwhile, Maude introduced Wynne to the Hawkes.

"Bethany is a Grey Warden and a mage. Her brother Adam is a splendid warrior. This is Isabela, a sea captain from Rivain. I don't think you've met. She helped up us in Denerim during the blight. Now then, we can go up through Hawke's cellars to his house in Hightown, and then it's only a short walk to the place where we're staying. I presume you want to come back to Ferelden with us?"

Wynne said, restraining her anger with an effort, "I cannot leave the Free Marches too soon!"

"At last we agree about something," Loghain muttered. "Come, let's get out of here. Hawke, lead the way, and I'll follow behind."

"Come with us," Maude urged the children, in her sweetest voice. "You can come to our house, and in a day or two we'll take you with us when we go home."

"Children," Wynne hushed them, "be very, very quiet as you go. Templars patrol down here in Darktown even at night!"

That seemed to be enough to silence them completely, though two of the little ones struggled over the last cake. Zevran broke it in two and whispered. "There is more where that came from. Be swift and silent!"

They departed, still watched by scores of eyes. A pair of filthy drunkards by a fire awakened to the sound of so many feet, and loudly invited the women to join them for 'a bit of fun.'

Loghain gave them a burning glare, but did not let the fools distract him. One of the children shrank back, frightened, from the smell of the passage to Hawke's cellars, and another stumbled on the steps. Loghain was glad they had Bethany along, and wondered how Zevran and Wynne had managed to keep an eye on all the children. Probably the oldest girl had helped quite a bit.

* * *

Hawke and Isabela insisted on seeing the Wardens' guests safe to the door of their borrowed mansion. Bethany kissed her brother on the cheek, gave him some instructions, and promised to let him know the whole story, as soon as everyone had enough sleep.

Wynne had changed a great deal. Under the brighter lights in their mansion, Loghain noticed an x-shaped scar marring her right cheek. Her strength was clearly flagging, and she and the smaller children were put to bed in the unused parlor, with the help of the oldest girl, Lilia, who tended to Wynne like a fierce, black-eyed shadow.

"They need baths," Maude told Loghain in an undertone after she shut the parlor door, "but they're just too tired. I think Wynne is a wreck. Tomorrow. We'll clean them up and arrange proper beds for them. They've had a bad time. The elf boy's been whipped pretty savagely. He has marks from his shoulders to the backs of his thighs. I think Lilia was whipped, too, but she wouldn't let anyone see. I'm puzzled that with a Healer of Wynne's caliber that any of them would have scars. It could be that the Starkhaven Circle was run on rather different lines than Kinloch Hold—and that was quite bad enough!" She thought about it a little more. "We'll have to find them some decent clothes. We can dig around the storerooms here and see what there is."

The early risers found out about the new arrivals, and were extremely curious about them. Ambrose, of course, knew Wynne, though it took him a bit of time to see the Senior Enchanter in the gaunt, scarred face. Maude had left a note on the door of the parlor, apprising the Wardens of their guests, and abjuring them to let them sleep.

Varric arrived late in the morning, and by then nearly everyone but the youngest children were up. He was very interested to hear about the appearance of their old comrades. Tubs of water were heated, and Maude had pried into crates, cupboard, and trunks for anything that could do for the children.

"Sure," shrugged the dwarf. "Do what you want with the stuff. It's not like I'm planning on using my childhood wardrobe ever again!"

Hawke arrived too, and apparently Bethany had said something to him, for he provided clothing as well. For Wynne, there were some of his mother's things from the days after she had returned to prosperity: a nearly-new silk gown, suitable for an older woman, in a muted lavender; fine linen shifts and smallclothes; delicate stockings. Young Lilia would have to make do with a Tevinter-style dress belonging to Hawke's elven servant. Though it was small enough, it was obviously made to fit a mature woman. They would have to buy the child something more appropriate.

"I want to wear armor like Zevran!" Loghain heard the young voice protesting. He glanced into the chaos of the parlor where they had put their guests. One of the children was being bathed and was splashing half the water on the floor. Two naked little girls were running around screaming, while Wynne sat on the edge of her chair, head in her hands. The little elf boy was not to be seen. The eldest girl was seated on a footstool, clothed in her ill-fitting Tevinter dress, complaining bitterly as Maude fine-combed her wet hair.

"Leathers aren't a bad idea," Maude agreed judiciously, searching diligently for lice. "If we can find some your size, we'll get some. They last a long time. You'll still want a change."

"Then I want breeches! I don't want to be a girl!"

The littlest child, a boy, was expressing his outrage over soap in his eyes, and struggled in Bethany's grasp.

"Zevran! Zevran! Sa-a-a-a-ve me-e-e-!"

They were all going to set up a howl in a minute. Loghain put his head into the room and said, "Enough! Don't make me come in there!"

Bethany glanced up, and shook her finger at the little boy. "Behave! You heard the Commander!"

Instantly all the children were silent, huge eyes turned toward Loghain.

One little girl cowered behind a chair and peered up. "The Knight-Commander?" she quavered.

"No," Maude said instantly, her voice convincing. "The Warden-Commander. There are no Templars here."

"I'm glad," Lilia said fiercely. "Templars are scum!"

Somewhat to Loghain's surprise, Wynne did not utter a word of reproof or excuse. He might have begun asking questions, but at that moment Zevran appeared, much cleaner himself and far more cheerful.

"Come! There is a fine breakfast waiting for you!"

The two little girls ran to him, and he dressed them in clean shirts big enough to make do as smocks.

"Aren't you done yet, Maude?" Lila wailed.

"Almost. I'm going to comb a bit more of Ambrose's anti-lice potion through your hair and put it in a braid."

In short order, the little boy was lifted from the tub and dressed in dwarven finery. Wynne stirred herself and gently persuaded the elf boy—already bathed and dressed— to come out from under the table where he was hiding, and Zevran took the children along to the kitchen. Loghain remembered that it was Darrow and Kain's turn to make breakfast, so he suspected the menu would be heavy on the bacon. That, of course, was fine with him.

But before that, he and Maude needed to hear Wynne's story. It was even more depressing than he had anticipated.

* * *

The difference between the Fereldan Circle at Kinloch Hold and the Circle at Starkhaven, he discovered, was the difference between unhappy people and desperate people.

Wynne, though she admitted to some years of great unhappiness in Ferelden, had come to accept the Chantry's role in controlling mages, and under the leadership of First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir, had eventually become a trusted and respected Senior Enchanter, permitted a great deal of personal freedom.

"I never saw blatant abuse of mages at the Circle," Wynne declared. "Never!" She saw Maude's skeptical expression, and went on. "Yes, some mages failed their Harrowings and perished. Yes, some mages were made Tranquil, but they were treated humanely and given their place in the world. But Starkhaven!" She shook her head, her face bitter. "I often wished I'd been sent to Orlais, which was the original plan when the College of Mages was arrested. I couldn't imagine it would have been as bad as Starkhaven. If the Knight-Commander hadn't been such a vicious fool, he would have seen it was bound to explode in his face, sooner or later!"

"And did it? Literally?" Maude asked, quite interested. "Explode in his face, I mean."

"The Templars openly used the mages for their sport," Wynne told her. "Rapes and beatings were common; even outright torture was permitted. Somehow it had all become completely toxic there. We were no better than slaves. First Enchanter Raddick cared only to protect himself and a few old cronies: the rest of us were fair game, and there was no appeal. The priests told us to prove our repentance by submitting ourselves to 'chastisment' without complaint. Even the children were not safe. Some of the Templars had a taste for them. Poor little Valandrion..."

Loghain understood that she was speaking of the elven boy.

"The best-looking boys and girls were chosen to be made Tranquil, for the Templars had set aside quarters for their toys. When they grew too old to be desirable, and had no other use, they were disposed of like animals. And there was no one to hold the Templars to account. Even Harrowed mages were made Tranquil, completely against the law. Templar recruits were either quickly corrupted, or transferred to hazardous duty."

She sighed, "Starkhaven is a terrible place, anyway. The ruling prince is a weakling, and is completely controlled by a cabal of nobles who are only interested in their own profits. As long as the Chantry keeps the mages quiet and controlled, they care nothing for what crimes are committed against them. In fact, they are not even considered crimes."

Loghain said, "I heard the Starkhaven Circle burned to the ground. There was an uprising?"

"You could call it that," Wynne said, a bit grudgingly. "It started out more as a...riot, I suppose. The Templars took two of the prettiest apprentices—a pair of twin girls— to be made Tranquil, and the girls had a tremendous magical outburst. They were quite powerful, anyway. The fire they started killed them, but it also killed the six Templars with them, and the blaze spread quickly. The apprentice dormitories were locked, but smoke drifted under the doors and there was a panic, with them all trying to escape. The doors were blown off their hinges and when the nearest Templars tried to smite them, they were literally trampled underfoot. The older students charged the outer doors and many of them were killed horribly, but Templars were killed too."

The fire spread quickly to the entire Circle and to other nearby buildings. The Templars were at first more concerned with their own survival than with catching or killing the mages. Wynne ran downstairs and found some of the youngest of the apprentices huddled in a corner of one of the dormitories. She had frozen the flames and admitted—reluctantly— that she had caused an outer wall to—collapse.

"Yes," Maude said calmly. "I know you have heaps of extra power when you really, really need it."

Wynne cast an uneasy look at Loghain. "I could not permit those children to be burned to death, if I could prevent it."

So they had fled, while fires raged in a city mad with fear. Wynne and her little fosterlings had found themselves at the banks of the great Minanter River, which flows through the city, and hidden themselves aboard a small boat. They had cut themselves loose from the dock and had drifted down the river for days, living on fish and river water. Everyone was sick, and Wynne had to heal the children and herself constantly. Now and then people took pity on them and gave them food or alms, but more often they were set upon by the lowest sort of bandits, and once, by slavers.

"But I am an experienced fighter," Wynne said quietly, "and Valandrion is becoming quite good at his primal spells. Of course, he's had plenty of practice."

"Not Lilia?" Maude asked, "She's got plenty of fight in her."

Wynne sighed. "Lilia has almost no magic at all. She was quite a hopeless student, I'm sorry to say. If she hadn't been startled by a priest into giving the woman a small shock while in Starkhaven Cathedral itself, she probably would never have been sent to the Circle. Sooner or later, she was destined to be made Tranquil, and she knew it. Of course, the Chantry has her phylactery and her name, and it's impossible to prove one is _not_ a mage, once one is actually committed to a Circle. If I could get her somewhere safe, I think she could learn to control the little bit of magic she has so that she could live a fairly normal existence. It's been a constant struggle to maintain the lesson that none of them must ever, ever call upon a demon, no matter how frightened they are!"

They had found a deserted hunting cabin, and stayed there for nearly a month, before the owners made their appearance, and caused them to flee once more. At the mouth of the Minanter River they reached the city of Bastion. There, in a wretched tavern, Wynne recognized Zevran, and threw herself on his mercy.

"Of course, he had problems of his own, what with the Crows in the midst of some sort of private war. But he was good enough to buy passage for us to Amaranthine, even though that did not work out as we hoped. Zevran really," Wynne leaned forward to confide in Maude, "has many fine qualities, though he pretends he does not."

"I completely agree," Maude said. "He's a brave and faithful friend. Here's the plan. You and the children stay here and rest. We intend to leave in a few days—"

"Tomorrow, if possible," Loghain grunted.

Maude flashed him a smile. "—Some of it depends on what the Viscount says. We're supposed to see him this evening. When we're out today, we'll pick up some things for the children. Just stay out of sight, and we'll have you back in Ferelden before you know it!"

"I cannot leave too soon," Wynne said. "It is not safe in this city. We have made contact with other mages here, and I discovered that a Templar from Starkhaven—Ser Alrik—has come to serve at the Circle in Kirkwall. He is a dreadful man," she whispered. "I am not exaggerating when I call him a sadist. He...cut me," she said, touching the scar on her face. "And he said that if I healed it, he would replace it with the brand of the Tranquil. I believe if it were up to him, every mage in Starkhaven would have been made Tranquil. I think he has been spreading his ideas throughout the Free Marches, and now no mage is safe."

They had other things to talk about. Loghain assured Wynne that Anora had been safely delivered of a healthy and beautiful daughter—by Anders—and then Maude had to tell her about their own little boy. Loghain was unspeakably embarrassed when Wynne's eyes filled with tears and she hugged Maude. It was time to leave them to their moment of sentiment and see if any bacon was left.

By the time Maude and Wynne joined them at breakfast, Maude was smiling.

"I told you I meant to get into the Kirkwall Circle. Now I have yet another reason. I'd love to meet this Ser Alrik."

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers:_ _Phygmalion, Aoi24, sizuka2, Kira Kyuu, KnighOfHolyLight, EpitomyofShyness, Judy, Zute, Mike3207, Jyggilag, Psyche Sinclair, JackOfBladesX, Oleander's One, Josie Lange, Jenna53, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Zahkespira, timunderwood9, Costin, Enaid Aderyn, Tsu Doh Nimh, Datenshi Aoi, kdarnell2, Tikigod784, and mille libri._

_I've been communicating with other writers, notably Tsu Doh Nimh, about the significance of the blood mage coven in Denerim. All those phylacteries...it seems too coincidental that at the same time as this coven is in operation, Caladrius is persuading Loghain and Howe to commit a great crime. At the same time, Anora is curiously passive for such a strong-minded young woman, and most of the nobility is absolutely useless. A lot of the characters behave in apparently uncharacteristic ways from the beginning of the game. I'm playing with the idea that Caladrius was the front man for more than just the Alienage band of mages. The blood mages had a very strong and entrenched presence, and considering how much money they obviously had, it's not beyond credibility to presume that they too were Tevinter, and in league with or commanded by Caladrius.  
_


	49. Very Junior Wardens

**The Keening Blade**

**Chapter 49: Very Junior Wardens**

As soon as his finished his chaotic breakfast, Loghain was thrilled to escape the Varric mansion and the noise within it. Everyone, including the dogs, seemed to have gone mad, trying to think of ways to entertain the children. Even—his indomitable spirit quailed briefly—_shopping _with Maude was better than a day with traumatized little mages, acting out because they felt themselves safe for the first time in—well, ever. Luckily the mansion Varric had lent them was _big._

He certainly did not begrudge spending coin on the children. He would take in the sights while Maude made the purchases, and paid enough, the merchants would deliver the goods to the mansion.

How pleasant that he was Warden-Commander and could detail others to child-care duty. Wynne and Zevran were left behind to watch the little ones, but they were not alone. Thanyra, still uncomfortable with the size and stoniness of Kirkwall, had volunteered to remain; and Osbeck, Darrow, Kain, Oghren, and Hereward would take turns at guard duty, in between slipping off to the Blooming Rose for a bit of _civilized_ entertainment.

So Loghain, guided by Varric and Hawke, would have the company of Maude, Bethany, Ambrose, and Valentine as they toured the city. Ranger and Topaz joined the glad throng, too, happy at the prospect of a long walk and the opportunity to terrorize the alley curs that Kirkwall miscalled by the noble name of "dog." They got on quite well with Hawke's mabari Hunter, of course. The adventures in the Warden prison had been a bonding experience for them.

"Where's Isabela?" Maude asked Hawke. "Too early for her?"

Hawke had an annoyingly pleasant laugh. Loghain's lips thinned.

"There is that," answered the handsome young man. "And she had errands of her own today. She's following up a lead on a lost relic she's interested in."

"Ooo! A relic? What kind?"

"That, Princess," said Varric, "is what we'd all like to know. It's important, and Isabela's pissed off at losing it, but other than that, it's a mystery."

First on the agenda was the Chantry, looming up, very tall and grand in the morning sun. Impressive double staircases led up to the entrance. Loghain felt he should at least put his head in the door, so he could describe it later.

Inside was the familiar head-splitting reek of incense, but the interior was far more splendid than Denerim Cathedral's, with an immense gilded statue of Andraste, her upturned head wreathed in flames of hammered gold. Well…yes… It was very, very big, and very impressive, he supposed. The statue would not have fit into Denerim Cathedral without cutting Andraste off at the knees, which would, he supposed, be impious. Candles were everywhere, lighting everything in a brilliant golden glow, which reflected off yet more gilded statues. The Chantry was unsurprisingly full of priests. Ethereal voices intoned the chant, far above their heads.

"That's the choir loft," Maude pointed. "Come on, let's have a look."

"I don't think—" Valentine murmured, and then stopped, intimidated by Maude's raised brows. "At least the dogs…I mean…oh, all right."

Short staircases ran up and down on either side of the chancel. Back and to the side were stairs that led up to the upper floors and the choir loft. Maude trotted along, dogs sniffing beside her, peering here and there into the priests' private quarters and the sacristies where some of the holy regalia were stored. Loghain took Maude's hand: an affectionate gesture than prevented any pilfering.

They passed behind the choir: over thirty men, women, and children, led by an older priest who was making signs to direct the singers. The choir ignored the intruders, intent on the Chant of Light. Loghain admired the discipline inherent in this kind of singing. It was really quite beautiful, and far less haphazard than some of the music he had heard in Denerim Cathedral.

Varric peered over the rail and motioned Maude closer, grinning.

"Down there," the dwarf said. "Talking with the Grand Cleric. That's Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, and a nice little choirboy he is."

Loghain took a look, and smirked. White armor? Really? It would certainly take some effort to keep clean. So this was the rightful prince of the city from which Wynne had escaped. Why was he here, playing holy man, when his countrymen were suffering?

The Grand Cleric turned away, and the prince looked up, recognizing Hawke. He smiled, and descended the steps of the chancel, obviously intending to join them.

"Hawke's in Choirboy's good books right now," Varric confided to Maude. "He slaughtered the Flint Company—the mercenaries who murdered his family—and then killed Lady Harriman, who paid for it."

"A vengeful Choirboy," Maude observed thoughtfully.

Varric snorted, unamused. "Only if it's his own quarrel. You should hear him preach to the rest of us about forgiveness."

In a moment, the very handsome young man in perfectly ridiculous white armor was being introduced to them by Hawke: clearly, the two were good friends.

"Allow me to present to you Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven. Sebastian, this is Maude Cousland Mac Tir, Regent of Gwaren, and—" his voice deepened to an absolutely thrilling thrum "—_Loghain Mac Tir_, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden!"

The newcomer's extraordinarily bright blue eyes opened wide in awe. "_The _Loghain? The Hero of Ferelden and Slayer of the Archdemon? My lord, what an honor!"

Maude smiled quietly, eyes on the floor, clearly working on restraining her laughter. Loghain groaned inwardly.

_Another fan. Joy. I hope he's not as silly about it as Valentine._

Sebastian attached himself to their party at once, and began showing every bloody boring bit of the Chantry to them.

"Have you met Her Grace?" Sebastian asked with puppy-like eagerness. "Oh...she is in a meeting this morning, but you must meet her, she is the holiest, the purest..." Words failed him at the wonder of Elthina.

"_I_ have met Her Grace," Maude told him, gently encouraging him, "Perhaps we will have the opportunity later. We really must get on to the rest of our errands now."

"I'll come with you!"

Maude winked at Loghain, and looked at Sebastian as if nothing could be more delightful. It was a fine day, and they strode quickly past the handsome façades of Hightown, and in front of the long and impressive entryway to the Viscount's Keep.

"You have met Viscount Dumar, I daresay," said Sebastian.

"I have," Loghain replied grimly. Sebastian was not entirely a fool, and comprehended some of Loghain's disapproval from those two words.

"There is indeed great disorder in the city," Sebastian agreed. "Much crime and cruelty. The Viscount seems overwhelmed. If it were not for Hawke and his friends, things would be far worse."

Maude smiled at him. "That's only too obvious!"

Loghain grunted. A properly-run city should not require independent vigilantes to keep order. Hawke no doubt did more good than harm, but it should all be regularized and official... The Viscount was a fool not to recognize the young man with some sort of proper title and clearly defined functions. They descended more stairs and found themselves in the Hightown market.

"Oh!" cried Maude, "A clothing shop! I must see what I can find for those poor children!"

Sebastian paused, big blue eyes traveling to Maude in tender approval. "Your lady is charitable!"

"Very," Loghain said dryly. "She loves giving presents. We shall be here for some time."

"No problem," Hawke said cheerfully. "I need to talk to a business partner of mine." He and Varric moved off, while everyone else admired the luxury items in the arcades and booths. Sebastian, however, remained, blue eyes fixed on Loghain.

Wynne's story was much on Loghain's mind, and he felt there was no reason to coddle this young fool.

"So you're the Prince of Starkhaven," he said grimly. "I hear your city is also suffering hard times lately."

Sebastian's guileless blue eyes filled with regret.

"I pray every day for the city of my birth. My cousin, Goran Vael, reigns there, but does not rule. He is a feeble lad, troubled with wind. No match for the noblemen of his court. Wolves, I call them."

"No doubt a shepherd find wolves annoying, too; but it is still his duty to protect the sheep. Aren't you the rightful heir?"

Sebastian was annoyingly modest about it all. "Only by default, and after grievous slaughter. I'm the youngest of three. My parents put me in the Chantry to prevent my competing with my brothers. It's a tradition of the Vaels."

"However," Loghain pointed out, "with your brothers gone, the rights and responsibilities of Starkhaven fall to you, do they not?"

The young prince shook his head. "It's not so simple as that. I used to be bitterly jealous of my eldest brother. I wanted to be prince. Now he lies in ashes, and all he had could be mine. I keep asking myself, 'Do I want this because it's right, or simply to have what I never thought I could?'"

A doubter. Loghain was painfully, exasperatingly reminded of Maric, with his everlasting doubts and self-deprecation and navel-gazing.

"You could be a just and fair ruler, which is more than the people have now, by your own words."

Sebastian was not convinced. "It cannot be right to march on Starkhaven with such doubt in my heart. In trying to retake Stakhaven, I've already caused the death of so many: the killers themselves and Lady Harriman, who hired them. Could I ever do enough good as prince to justify that?" He brooded, the fine-boned face so earnest that Loghain wanted to thump him. "What difference does it really make, who rules in Starkhaven? Someone will take the reins. The crops will be planted and gathered. No one will notice that a Vael lives and isn't there. And I can devote my life to the Maker's will on Thedas. In the end, it is all in the Maker's hands."

Loghain grimaced and looked at the sky. "Let me see if I understand you: if you were out at night, and saw thugs robbing and raping a woman, you would not interfere, and simply leave it in the Maker's hands."

The handsome face flushed. "Of course not!"

"Yet you permit your homeland to be robbed and raped, and concern yourself only with your own thoughts and feelings. It seems to me much the same thing, only on a larger scale." Loghain paused, and said, "I knew a prince once who also did not want to rule. He doubted himself and doubted if his cause was worth all the attendant suffering. Yet Maric did his duty to his people and saved them from tyranny."

"Why would I want to rule Starkhaven and deal with jackals like Lady Harimann for the rest of my life?"

"So once again it's all about you? What's right for your people?"

Sebastian had some scruples after all: he looked genuinely distressed.

"I cannot return to Starkhaven without a clear sign that it is the will of the Maker."

Loghain lifted a brow and stared at him. Sebastian flushed red.

"What sort of..._sign?"_ Loghain asked coldly. "Do you expect a personal invitation from the Maker?"

"I never said—"

Maude returned, with a sunny smile. "That's done! I can't do much about boots for their poor little feet on short notice, but at least they'll have clothes on their backs." She turned to Sebastian. "They were starving and in rags, after all their horrible sufferings when they fled from Starkhaven."

Sebastian blushed again. Loghain smirked, and raised the other brow.

Maude arranged for her orders to be delivered to the mansion. Then she spotted a booth that sold prepared chocolate and nonsensical sweetmeats: sugarplums and comfits and Antivan Delight. It was all insanely expensive, and done up in gauzy bags and silly painted boxes sealed with wax. Maude made heavy purchases there.

"It keeps so well. I'll take a box for Fergus and Cauthrien and another for Alistair and Anora. Among others."

They moved lower, and crossed a long bridge that led them to Lowtown and the market there. This was not so glamorous. Maude and Bethany dug through old books and then through old clothes, while Varric and Hawke kept up a running commentary about events in the city.

"My sources tell me," Varric said, "that the Viscount's boy has gone off the rails again."

"Saemus," Hawke sighed. "Is the Qunari? Or some other new fad?"

"Oh, it's the Qunari again. Word is that he's gone to live in the Qunari compound as…what do you call it? There's a long Qunari word for it, but it means convert, and you can imagine how that's gone down."

Hawke supplied the word. "Viddathari."

"Surely the Maker will open his eyes," Sebastian said earnestly. "For the Viscount's own son to reject the true faith…" The young man paused, apparently finding the concept beyond words.

"Oh, it will definitely be one more reason for the Chantry to move toward deposing Dumar," Varric agreed. "He's their man, but he's never been quite _enough _their man to suit them."

Sebastian was scandalized. "The Grand Cleric does not interfere in secular affairs."

"She may not," Hawke pointed out, "but the Templars certainly do."

Bethany looked up from her pile of books, and agreed with her brother. "Knight-Commander Meredith killed the last Viscount, and appointed Marlowe Dumar in his place. I think that definitely counts as 'interference.'"

Sebastian's face took on a hunted look, and he admitted, "Even many of the Templars feel that the Knight-Commander has exceeded her authority."

"There now," Maude said sweetly. "We're all in agreement. I like that. The Grand Cleric is very nice. I'm sure _she'd_ never plot anybody's murder."

Somewhat mollified, Sebastian moved closer to Maude, thinking to find a kindred spirit there. "The Grand Cleric labors constantly to achieve a balance between the mages and the Templars in this city."

"Hmmm," Maude thought about that. "I suppose the thing to do, then, is to lock up the Templars in the Circle, too. That might balance them a bit."

Sebastian moved away again.

A small, shabby booth sold oddments that included children's toys, mostly carved from wood: wheeled wooden horses and cup-and-balls, jointed dolls and wooden-handled skipping ropes. Maude had to buy things there, too.

"And we _have_ to stop at Lirene's," Maude informed him. "It's Fereldan headquarters in this city."

Loghain remembered her mentioning the shop of a Fereldan woman, and had imagined another shabby booth. Lirene's was not like that.

It was a great deal more than just a shop. It was a pair of large drafty rooms that served as shop, meeting place, dispenser of charity, and clearinghouse of information for the expatriate Fereldans. It was where they could hear of employment or cheap housing; where they could arrange for an apostate to heal their sick, and where they could sell the little items they could spare or craft themselves to raise a few coins. Lirene and her assistants lived here themselves, along with whatever charity cases were most dire at the moment. Looking at the place depressed Loghain profoundly. He immediately put ten sovereigns in the collection box.

Over the past year or so, some refugees had paid their fares to return home; more had indentured themselves to various Ferelden lords. Those remaining in Kirkwall must be the poorest of the poor, or those whose family situation or lack of skills made them uninteresting to the scouts arranging indentures. Many more might have nothing to return to, anyway: homes destroyed and family dead in the Blight. Maude had allowed a few dozen to return with her on her first journey. What hope was there in Kirkwall for these poor, lost souls?

And then he was recognized, and it was all a blur. Loghain heard the pleas and plaints, told Lirene briskly of free places for ten in his ship for those who could be ready by the following day, and shoved his way out, conscience flayed and bleeding.

They walked down to the docks, which gave him time to clear his head. The _Wild Wyvern_ was berthed in the eastern docks, and everything seemed well in order for them to leave when they pleased. Loghain suggested the following day, but it all was somewhat uncertain, depending on his conversation this evening with the Viscount. The captain was told to be vigilant: the crew could enjoy their liberty tonight, but beginning tomorrow morning everything must be in a state of readiness.

"And keep watch on your ship, Princess!" laughed Varric. "Isabela would kill for it!"

"Why hasn't she found a new one?" Maude asked. "Everyone got quite a haul from the Deep Roads."

"Not quite enough for the kind of ship she wants," Varric said, "or at least it wasn't after the first few weeks, which were pretty heady. Also," he lowered his voice, looking at Hawke, who was in conversation with Ambrose and Bethany, "she's not eager to leave Kirkwall for a long voyage at the moment."

Maude smiled. "So it would seem!"

"And besides," Varric added more practically. "There's this relic she's obsessed with. That really does seem to be the first priority."

The scent of the sea grew stronger, and the cries of seabirds rose up, shrill and keening. The street went downhill and the scene enlarged. A cool sea breeze met them face-to-face, ruffling their hair. Masts rose above some low-lying warehouses. Loghain studied the area, now with the eye of a soldier rather than that of a tourist.

"Show me the Qunari compound," he said.

It was set off from the main street in the Dockside district, behind a cliff of sandstone and stucco buildings. A heavy gate provided seclusion and security. Loghain frowned.

"Do the Qunari have access to the buildings fronting the street?"

Varric could answer that.

"No. They've got some warehouse and factory space behind them, and there's a small courtyard. These buildings here are city property, and when the Qunari moved in, the back doors were sealed. Behind the compound are more warehouses that belong to the Merchant's Guild, and they're not likely to want to share with the Qunari. As far as I know, that gate is the only way in or out."

Loghain looked at again, unconvinced, and grimaced in disgust. There was not a city guard to be seen. Someone should be assigned to this post day and night. The Qunari, on the other hand, knew their business. A big warrior manned the gate. These Kirkwallers were absolutely determined to make it as easy for the Qunari as possible.

"You think it's not safe," Hawke said to him quietly. "I agree. The Arishok is ready for any excuse to lash out. Why he hasn't left, I don't know. The Qunari seem to have plenty of money. They could _buy_ a ship, for that matter."

Maude suggested, "Maybe he's in disgrace for losing his own ship. Maybe he was supposed to go down with it. Seems hard on his men to keep them here if the disgrace is only his. And then," she smirked, "he's lost a lot of men, too, hasn't he? I mean, considering the large number of Tal-Vashoth plaguing the coast, he must have lost what? A third of his men? Nearly half?"

"Could be," Hawke agreed. "From what I could see in the compound—which wasn't much, since they're so secretive—I'd estimate that the Arishok hasn't much more than a hundred men at his disposal."

"I estimate a hundred ten to a hundred twelve," Varric said. He saw everyone staring, and said, "What? They have to pay for provisions, don't they? The Merchant's Guild keeps tabs. Based on what it takes to feed one Qunari, it's not that hard to figure."

Loghain's opinion of the gossiping dwarf soared. "Well reasoned," he said.

They needed to return to their borrowed mansion for the midday meal, and ordinarily Loghain would have invited everyone to join them. With a mob of little mages in the house, it was probably not the best idea to invite Sebastian Vael.

Maude, however, could not take leave of her aristocratic manners to that extent. Loghain winced as she did in fact invite the prince, just as if she were in command of an army of cooks and footmen. Loghain tried to remember who was in charge of this meal.

Oghren. Maker's Breath!

"We live very simply, of course," Maude was saying. "without servants, but you are most welcome to take potluck with us."

Apparently Loghain's plain speaking had not completely antagonized his new admirer, for Sebastian immediately accepted the invitation, and they walked back toward Hightown, not dawdling quite so much on the return trip. They were Wardens, after all, and hungry.

Oghren had not cooked. Loghain considered reciting the Canticle of Benedictions on the spot. They would not, therefore, have ale soup, ale stew, or nugs in ale. The dwarf had been apparently too much occupied with other...errands, and so had bought provisions from a bake shop. The intriguing fragrance drew Loghain in through the front door, nostrils flared. The dogs themselves seemed very excited.

"The woman said she made 'The Best Pies in Kirkwall.'" Oghren grinned. "Huh! We'll see about that!"

The table in the room they had set up as a dining and recreation hall was spread with good things. Oghren had spent his coin generously. There were rats on sticks, of course, with deep bowls of spicy sauce; but there were nuts and olives, crusty bread rolls, a bowl of ripe pears, a blue-veined cheese, a whole roasted nug, and at least two dozen enchanting pastry castles, steam still rising from the crenelations.

"Looks good!" Varric approved. "Those, my friends, are Kirkwall Keeps: minced pork-and-apple pies!"

"Oooh!" cried Maude, "I smell nutmeg! I love nutmeg!"

As they had guests, they opened some wine. It was quite a feast. And the children thought so too, when they exploded into the room, squealing, young faces eager.

Then they saw the stranger, and all the light went out of their eyes as they shrank back.

"Mistress Wynne, Master Zevran, and children," Maude rounded them up with reassuring charm, gesturing at each one as she named them. "Lilia, Valandrion, Jennet, Alisanne, Davey: you know Master Hawke and Master Varric. This is Prince Sebastian, so bow. Right. I want you to sit at this end. I bought you a special treat today, and I hope you'll eat nicely and deserve it!"

Bribes worked, Loghain knew, as well on children as they did on adults: that is, less than half of the time. However, if the bribe was attractive and promptly paid, people were more likely to live up to their part of the bargain. The child took their places with a minimum of noise.

"I'll sit with the nuglets, too," Oghren said. "Wynne and I are old friends. Somebody's got to help the kids lay siege to Castle Piever. Haw!"

Maude made a face, annoyed at the gibe. "Castle Piever. How very _amusing."_

Loghain considered it. "Good one, Oghren."

The dwarf, very considerately, had found some books from the library for the children sit on, since the benches were low. Every child gripped his or her little spoon like sword-wielding warriors about to do battle; struggling mightily to wait until the slothful adults had taken their places.

"Those are the refugee children, then?" Sebastian asked Maude quietly. "They look like they could use a good meal. It is an act pleasing to Andraste to feed and clothe poor orphans."

"Pleasing to me, too," Maude beamed at him. "Sit, sit everyone! I hope everyone's had as delightful a morning as I did."

Dain nodded judiciously. "First-class, I'd say." The men rumbled agreement. Hereward turned a delicate shade of pink and seemed intolerably pleased with himself.

They fell to with a will. Sebastian, Varric, and Hawke did not have the appetites of Wardens, but they clearly enjoyed the meal. Maude kept everyone well supplied with wine and ale, or with cider, if their taste ran to that. For the children, she had ordered a keg of ginger beer: not strong enough to dizzy their little heads, but safer than the city water, and a pleasant novelty for them.

They had nearly finished off the last redoubts of crumbly pastry, when there was a knock at thefront door.

No, not a knock: an infernal pounding, as if someone were laying siege to the mansion in good earnest. Darrow rose, muffled a belch, and moved with languid determination in the direction of the door.

"I'll go, too," Maude said. "Perhaps it's one of my deliveries."

Maude did not reappear immediately. Ranger stirred from beneath the table, where he was gleaning dropped tidbits, and surged out of the room, ears up. Darrow came back, fully alert.

"You'd better come, ser," he said grimly, jerking his head toward the front door. "It's trouble."

It certainly was. The conversation was loud enough to ring through the the reception hall.

"...We're here for the apostates!" a deep voice snarled. "You'd better hand them over at once, if you know what's good for you!"

_Maker's Breath! _ Loghain pressed on, alarmed. _ The Templars! They must have the mages' phylacteries! _

Behind him, he heard footsteps, as the Wardens closed ranks._  
_

Maude's voice was calm and unimpressed. "Nice company you keep, Ser Cullen. As for that buzzing fly who mentioned 'apostates,' I don't speak to cowardly bullies afraid to show their faces. So, Cullen, if you wish to discuss this matter in a civilized manner, we're at your service. The extra muscle, however, is _not _invited."

"Your Grace…" a younger, milder voice faltered, "I am here in the performance of my duty. We have tracked a party of apostates to this location…"

"There are no apostates here," Maude said coldly. "This house is currently a Grey Warden residence. Of course there are mages. A Grey Warden mage, however, is _not_ an apostate, but a lawful defender of all life on Thedas."

Loghain grimaced. He would have to back her up, one way or the other. He stepped out into the sunlight, with a party of Wardens at his back. Maude was quite at her ease, with Ranger beside her. Topaz darted out, growling at the armed men, and then joined her mate.

"Ser Cullen," Loghain said, moving up alongside Maude, his eyes flicking over the Templars. Cullen, four more knights, three archers, stood ranged on the steps and down on the courtyard. Other than their leader, the Templars all wore the big bucket helmets that concealed their identities, and they were in full fighting panoply, including the long purple skirts. He and his people could certainly take them—and easily at that—but then they would have to leave Kirkwall quite a bit faster than they had planned.

"My lord…er….Warden-Commander," Cullen responded, eyeing Loghain with nervous distrust. Loghain was unimpressed. He certainly hadn't asked that fool Uldred to get himself possessed by a demon and start killing mages and Templars alike back at the Fereldan Circle during the Blight. The _point_ of his scheme with the Libertarians was to give the mages a bit more freedom—preferably to serve in the army.

Loghain returned the young Templar's scrutiny with his most gelid and intimidating stare. "My Senior Warden has already told you there are no apostates here. By ancient treaty, you have no right whatever to interfere with the Grey Wardens. Ser Cullen, I will not gainsay my wife, who is willing to discuss the matter with you, but the rest of you will leave."

"Not without the mages!" shouted a Bucket Head. "We know they're in there!"

Loghain's head swiveled toward the faceless knight. He was a big man with a big sword. Loghain had killed bigger. "Leave."

Cullen cleared his throat. "I'll handle this, Alrik—"

"Oh!" Maude cried. "Is that Ser Alrik talking? I've heard of him! He's the one who whips little girls and buggers little boys. Is he hiding his face out of shame? So he should. I saw the marks. He likes to leave scars, it seems."

The faceless Templar blustered, and there was a slight shift away from him: a certain restless unease among the men confronting them. Cullen flushed a curious shade of purplish-red. It clashed with his strawberry blonde hair. He opened his mouth, and then shut it.

Loghain sighed invisibly, in his deepest heart. The fat was sizzling in the fire now. On the other hand, he hated perverts who abused children; and he resented any loudmouthed oaf who thought he could tell _Loghain_ what to do.

"The Senior Warden has spoken. You cannot interfere with Grey Wardens."

Cullen, at least, was no coward. "The apostates cannot be Grey Wardens. One is an old woman, and the other five are children."

Loghain let his gaze sweep the men before him. "An old woman…" he repeated slowly, "…and five children…and the lot of you dressed up for a tournament or a pig-sticking. I can't quite tell which. Maker's Breath, that's _sad."_

Maude cocked her head. "And what makes you think they're _not _Grey Wardens? Our Right of Conscription is absolute. We can conscript anybody. Absolutely _anybody,_ regardless of rank, race, gender, or age. We could conscript the Viscount. We could conscript your Knight-Commander. We could, in fact, conscript every one of you right now as we speak, and you would have no right to appeal or protest or…resist."

She came forward a little. Loghain hoped she would not actually conscript a Templar or burst out into one of her insane rants. This was really, really not the time or place for it.

"And let's talk about that 'old woman,' while we're at it. That 'old woman' was with us when we ended the Blight. I didn't see any of _you_ there. Nor any of your order, for that matter! She was with me when I saved the Fereldan Circle. Now that I recall it—and I recall it with crystal clarity—I had no Templar assistance there, either. No. With me was..._**my dog..."**_ she declared, with a sweeping gesture.

Ranger barked, and then panted with sublime self-satisfaction.

Maude continued, her voice vibrating with eloquence. "...an apostate, and Wynne, Senior Enchanter of the Circle. The only Templar left in the Tower at the end was you, Cullen, trapped in an arcane sphere. Every other Templar was shaking in his boots beyond the barrier door, and Greagoir had sent for the Right of Annulment, which would have meant cutting down the little apprentices the brave Templars left behind. As it happened, I dealt with the blood mages, saved the First Enchanter, and despite _some people's_ expressed fears, not one of those mages who survived became an abomination! So don't pretend you've seen more demons than I have. " She smiled eerily. "I have, in fact, seen things that would turn your blood to spit!"

Loghain put up one hand for quiet. With the other he grasped Maude's strong shoulder, willing her to be calm and keep her weapons sheathed. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sebastian Vael moving closer to the door, listening in disbelief. Hawke and Varric were there, too; ready to fight, but sensibly out of plain sight until then.

"And I," said Loghain,"have had considerable experience myself. We feel perfectly capable of dealing with any magical threats. After all," he sneered at the men in their massive armor. "I killed the bloody Archdemon, which is just about as magical a being as it is possible to meet. Maude is right: I don't recall any of you being present. So, Ser Cullen, are you willing to talk sensibly, or not?"

A tense silence. Cullen took a long breath, and said, "I will discuss the matter with the Warden-Commander. Ser Alrik, take the men and withdraw to the Chantry."

Ser Alrik shouted, "Just you wait until the Knight-Commander hears about this!"

Maude looked at Cullen and said quietly, "I'm going to kill him if he doesn't shut up _right now. _I don't care what that crackpot Meredith says, either."

"Ser Alrik, withdraw!"

The rest of the Templars moved off, grumbling. Loghain turned and gave a quiet command to Darrow.

"Bring Wynne here, but make clear that we are not handing her over."

"Those children..." Cullen protested, "you wouldn't really force them to be Grey Wardens, would you?"

Maude was amused. "What, use their powers for the good of all Thedas, rather than be locked away for life with no chance for purpose and meaning? That _is_ a dilemma, isn't it?"

"So much sarcasm is not necessary, Maude," Wynne reproved her. In the daylight, she looked even worse than she had the night before. Her appearance clearly shocked Cullen. Wynne looked sadly at the young Templar. "I have done the world some service, whether it acknowledges me or not. I have helped to save the Circle. I stood before the Archdemon. I have taught the young, healed the sick, and comforted the dying. I have never rejected the idea of the Circle, Cullen; but if the Chantry can do no better for us than rape and torture and death by fire, then it is time to...restructure the relationship between mages and the Chantry."

Loghain said, "There's another thing that_ can_ be done. Leliana has joined the Seekers. Maude can write to her and tell her to investigate the allegations against the Starkhaven Templars. That's what the Seekers do, isn't it?"

Cullen grimaced at the mention of the Seekers, but Maude thought that a very good idea. So, apparently, did Sebastian Vael, though he remained silent.

Maude said, "I'll write to her this very day! Wynne, when you're feeling a bit perkier, I think you should write down a detailed account of the events from the time of the Cumberland fiasco to the present, detailing everything you saw. Leliana has the ear of one of the Chantry elite."

"You're really conscripting all of them?" Cullen asked, rather overwhelmed.

"They_ are_ conscripted," Loghain corrected him. "They are no longer your concern. Were I you, I'd be more worried about the Qunari presence."

"Ser Cullen," Maude said, in her most persuasive tones, "Wynne is going home to Ferelden. She is a member of the Ferelden Circle. She has a phylactery in Ferelden. She was _authorized_ to travel by the Knight-Commander and the Grand Cleric there. She had _permission_ to attend the College of Mages in Cumberland. It was not her fault that the Chantry did not act in good faith. It's quite obvious that permission was given to the mages to attend, with the secret intent of arresting the most talented and distinguished mages in Thedas and locking them up far from home. That was a cruel and foolish thing to do: exactly the sort of thing that drives mages to despair and violence So she is going home. It is the best thing for her, for you, and for everyone."

"Very well," Cullen said, looking dashed. "Nobody questions your Right of Conscription, Warden-Commander, but _children..."_

"They will be properly watched over and trained. They're safer with us than with you," Maude told him flatly. "So nice to see you again, Ser Cullen."

The young man gave them a formal bow, and marched away, head bowed in thought.

"Good riddance!" Maude said. "He is such a wet blanket. Rather pretty, though. Well, I'm off to give the children their treats."

Sebastian Vael was still bewildered. "Those little children...they are all _mages_?"

Maude gave Sebastian a brilliant smile. "Don't worry, Your Highness! It's not contagious."

"They may not all be mages," Loghain added. "It's possible that the eldest girl is not, but of course the mere inability to wield magic will not free her now. She was committed to the Circle, and has no appeal."

Maude's voice modulated to a throbbing pressure that impelled instant submission. "I think you should have a nice long talk with Wynne, and learn about conditions in your city!" She smiled again. "But now for the treats! Sugarplums for everyone!"

She darted away, face alight. Loghain groaned, wondering what those children would be like, once they were stuffed with sweets and given hard wooden objects with which to hit each other and everybody else.

"Yes," Wynne nodded, deep in thought, "You must understand that we did not flee out of willful rebellion. Come back to the dining hall, Prince Sebastian, and I'll tell you the whole story. Perhaps it would be best over a nice cup of tea..."

And Sebastian, Prince of Starkhaven, accustomed to obeying maternal older women, went without a whisper of protest.

There was amusement among the Grey Wardens. Ambrose laughed with the rest, but then jerked his chin at Cullen's distant, retreating figure.

"They'll be back," he predicted.

"Probably," Loghain granted. "But it will take time for them to decide how far they want to go. Hawke, I have something to discuss with you. Varric, you will find this of interest as well."

The pile of petitions in the study had grown while he was gone. Loghain pointed his guests to comfortable chairs and began sorting through the pile. Anything that involved Ferelden or the Wardens in particular he kept. Other pleas, that could be handled just as well by a local hero, he tossed in Hawke's direction. The young man skimmed through them, nodding. Varric raised his brows at a few of them. There was potential for profit here.

"And this—" Loghain snorted at one of the petitions "—would never have come my way if you had a Viscount and a City Guard worth anything."

Hawke temporized. "Aveline's a friend."

"I daresay. She may be a good friend, but I cannot say I'm impressed with the performance of her people. There is not even a sentry keeping watch at the Qunari compound, for Maker's sake! A city this rich should have a guard three times the size, not to mention a respectable standing army."

Hawke gave him a wry but winning smile. "I don't pretend to be privy to all the financial secrets of the city. I do know that a lot of money comes in, and then is siphoned off almost immediately. Aveline complains that her budget is stretched to the limit. What's this?" he said, taking up another piece of parchment. "Oh, I know these people."

They worked through the petitions for some time, and Maude joined them later.

"The little ones are having their naps. Valandrion is having a lesson with Bethany, and Lilia…"

Lilia was right behind Maude, determined to have her say about her rather nice new apparel.

"You bought me girl's clothes!" Lilia sulked. "I'm wearing a skirt. How can I fight in a _skirt?"_

Maude had no patience with that. "I fight in a skirt all the time. One can fight perfectly well in a skirt, if it's not too tight and one is not a silly prude. What are tassets or faulds, other than a kind of skirt? Besides, breeches are no better. I can't tell you the number of times I beat a man because the back of his trousers ripped at a critical moment."

Lilia squealed with laughter, and put a hand over her mouth.

"Laugh if you like," Maude said loftily. "but it always distracts them: always, always, always. That_ r-r-r-ripping_ sound. Even the ones disciplined enough not to grab their behinds look away from me, and that's when I get them. So there. Skirts rule."

Lilia giggled, and then grew solemn. "Is that why Templars wear them?"

"Could be," Hawke nodded judiciously. "After all, even Templars can't be complete idiots all the time."

Maude instantly disagreed. "Of course they can! They stole the skirt idea from Andraste, but they're still idiots."

Loghain let them laugh, glad to see the little girl in better spirits and not nearly so filthy. A pert little face with quite fine eyes. Her eyebrows were dark and strong-drawn, curving up beautifully like a swallow's wing.

"Are we really going to be Grey Wardens?" she asked Maude.

"Absolutely not," said Loghain. Lilia's face fell.

Maude gave Loghain a look. "What the Warden-Commander means to say, Lilia, is that's the story we're telling the Chantry until we are safely out of Kirkwall. When we get to Ferelden we'll have a long talk about what is best for each of you. Mages do need special training, but there are a number of ways to do that, and Wynne is not sure that you are actually a mage—"

"I know I'm not," Lilia said. "The day they took me away the weather was all funny, and my hair was crackling, and when the priest touched my hand there was this little spark, but my half-sisters were crackling too, and nobody called them mages. That didn't matter. The priest was frightened, and my step-mother got very excited and agreed that I must be a mage, because I was a wicked girl and always causing trouble. Even one of the Templars wasn't sure, but the Revered Mother was friends with my step-mother, and she told him what to think, and before I knew it, I was taken to the Circle, and they cut me for my blood. Now my step-mother's children will get everything."

Hawke muttered. "I wonder how often that happens..."

It was a genuinely horrible thought. Loghain knew of families—like Sebastian Vael's for that matter—that had forced inconvenient children into the Chantry; but to manipulate events to brand a child a mage, with all that would mean...that was unspeakably cruel. It could not be permitted to stand. Maude seemed to have taken a fancy to the little girl. Certainly, somewhere in the vastness of Soldier's Peak there was some small corner where a small girl could find shelter. Long ago, he had taken a young girl in, and Cauthrien had certainly turned out well. This girl was not a warrior, but that was not to say that she had no value. And she was very young, and with the influence of Maude...

As Loghain passed Hawke another parchment, there was another commotion at the front door. He and Maude exchanged long-suffering glances.

"Master Hawke!" called Osbeck. "Friends of yours!"

And Isabela and a tall redheaded woman stormed through the door.

* * *

"I'm going to _die!" _Isabela shouted. She put her hands on her excellent hips. "There. That got your attention. Real problem."

"I thought you were looking for your relic?' asked Varric.

The redhead exploded. "Who cares about her relic? I am _trying_ to keep this city from rising up against the Qunaris! I think that's just a little bit more important than a piece of loot!"

Isabela looked pained. "Maybe... the relic will help with the Qunari problem. Hawke, I told you that my old friend Castillon was going to kill me if I didn't deliver the relic. Now I hear that Wall-Eyed Sam has it. The thing is...well...The relic and the Qunari are sort of...connected. The Qunari...may have come here in search of it."

"Keep talking," Loghain ordered. This was going to be very bad. The angry redhead was Aveline Valen, Captain of the city guard, and former Fereldan officer. Loghain vaguely remembered her. She had been quite a junior officer at Ostagar, but Loghain never forgot a face. Hers was stony hard and hostile when turned his way. He did not waste time trading glares, but tried to make sense of Isabela's story. Probably most of it was a tissue of lies. She was quite a bit like Maude, if Maude were shorn of every scrap of patriotism and aristocratic honor. Her story, however fabricated, was still diverting. Maude sent young Lilia off to the dining hall, much to the child's disgust, and they focused their attention on Isabela.

"I found out that the relic is a book. A Qunari book. A Qunari book written by that philosopher of theirs...Caspian, Cousland..."

"Hey!" objected Maude. "No Qunaris in my family! Philosophers either," she added, in an aside.

"Koslun," Zevran said grimly, coming into the room. "The Book of Koslun. You are saying that it is what brought the Qunari here? Perhaps the book was lost? Stolen?"

Loghain narrowed his eyes at Isabela. "Stolen...by you?"

"We don't have time for Isabel's selfish concerns!" Aveline pounded the table with a mailed fist. "The Arishok is sheltering two fugitives. I need your help so this doesn't get out of hand."

"What do you mean, 'fugitives?'"asked Maude. "They're obviously not mages."

"They're elves, wanted for murder. They've taken refuge with the Qunari claiming to be 'converts.' Obviously we can't have every criminal in this city thinking they can evade the law that way. The Arishok must be convinced to release them! We're in real danger of a riot."

"All right, Aveline," Hawke said, admirably calm. "What do you want?"

"Come with me to the compound. I need help convincing the Arishok to cooperate."

"And I need help not _dying!" _ Isabela shouted.

"Maybe having the book returned would appease him, and then he would depart." Loghain suggested. "It's not like any us care about Qunari philosophy."

Maude was pleased at the prospect of adventure. "Hawke can go sort out Isabela, and I can go with Aveline to the Arishok. He sort of likes me."

Loghain wasn't having that. "You are not going to the Arishok alone!"

"N-o-o-o-o-o," Maude said soothingly. "I'm going with_ Aveline_ and her _guardsmen_. However, I don't deny that this sounds like a situation in which backup is called for. We'd better armor up directly."

"Definitely," agreed Hawke, getting up and rubbing circles on Isabela's back. "The Arishok has been on the edge for weeks. I'll see if we can track this book down, and then I'll join you at the Qunari compound by the docks as soon as I can."

"Come on," Isabela said, "the exchange is happening at the Lowtown foundry." She left, swaggering, her point gained. Hawke paused in thought.

"I'll see if Fenris is at home, and we'll find Merrill in Lowtown. Hunter!" he called for his mabari.

Loghain made his dispositions quickly, and then went upstairs with Maude to arm. Captain Aveline might fear the city rioting, but Loghain thought a Qunari sortie was just as likely, and could be infinitely more dangerous. He had no liking for this city and no stake in its security; but he was temporarily living here, and the Qunari Compound was between him and the ship that would take him home. Unfortunate that his appointment with the Viscount had not been earlier in the day: there might have been more that he could have accomplished.

Maude's hair was firmly plaited up and pinned. She was beautiful in her Archdemon armor, and terrible as an army with banners. She saw him looking and tilted her head up for a kiss. "Let's go out there and kill them."

"Them? Who's 'them?'"

"Anyone...everyone...whoever asks for it and needs killing the most."

"I daresay you're going to try to '_persuade'_ the Arishok to cooperate with your friend Aveline."

She blew out a breath. "I'll certainly try that first, but I suspect he's pretty strong-willed. It worked on Sten eventually, but I've only met this man once before. Oh well, if he won't listen to reason, we'll probably have to kill him." She slung her spring-bow over a shoulder. "I'll take Roderick, too. Today is a day to carry as many weapons as possible."

Loghain agreed with that, but felt some concern for Wynne and the children. If they all left the house, what was to prevent the Chantry from breaking in and seizing them—or worse?

"Oghren," he said. "You and Thanyra will stay here and guard the house and our Junior Wardens. No Templars or Qunari are to cross the threshold."

"Sodding blighters," muttered Oghren, "leaving me behind."

"Oghren," Maude murmured, "This is important! The children don't go out, and no one but us comes in. Tell the children some good old Orzammar stories."

Loghain detected a little vocal nudge there, and cleared his throat. Maude only smiled, and Oghren became quite resigned.

"Right, Boss. You can count on me."

"What is happening?" Wynne said, coming out to the hall, Sebastian in tow. "Lilia says that the Qunari are rioting."

"We hope not," Loghain said swiftly. "We are on our way to their compound to try to mediate. Stay here with the children. We're leaving Oghren and Thanyra with you, and Zevran..."

"Zevran," said the Antivan assassin, bowing gallantly to Maude, "will be where he belongs. I have missed fighting at your side, my Warden!"

Loghain forced down his annoyance at Maude's delighted smile. "Oh, very well. Prince Sebastian, this is not your fight—"

"Of course it is!" cried that princely young scion of the Vaels. He was still holding his teacup. "I will defend this city with my life, and at the side of the Hero of the age!"

"Finish your tea first," Maude advised, "and then we're off."

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Zute, Ellyanah, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, MsBarrows, Hero, JackOfBladesX, Judy, Tsu Doh Nimh, Oleander's One, KnightOfHolyLight, Phygmalion, Jyggilag, Mike3207, Jenna53, Enaid Aderyn, EpitomyofShyness, Kira Kyuu, Psyche Sinclair, mille libri, RakeeshJ4, sizuka2, Gene Dark, Shakespira, Josie Lange, riverdaleswhiteflash, anon, and timunderwood9._

_Note: mille libri's _At Your Side_ uses some of the same source material regarding the pies of Kirkwall. Do read her splendid story. Her story also first presented the concept of a non-mage being consigned to the Chantry and Tranquility by a corrupt official in collusion with the Chantry.  
_

_Maude does not use the Marcher honorific "Serrah," when speaking to people. Instead she says, "Master" or "Mistress," which is Fereldan usage.  
_

_I don't believe that Templars have the actual ability to sense magic or magical ability. If they did, identifying apostates would be far easier. I think they act on evidence, information, and deduction. All sorts of natural phenomena could be taken for an instance of magic, and I think static electricity could easily be one of them.  
_

_Some twists in the next chapter. To review the parties: Hawke, his dog, Varric, and Fenris are going with Isabela to track down the relic. Oghren, Thanyra, Wynne, and the children are at the Tethras mansion. Going to the Qunari Compound are Loghain, Maude, Sebastian, Bethany, Ambrose, Darrow, Kain, Valentine, Osbeck, Hereward, Topaz, and Ranger.  
_

_A recipe for sugarplums:  
_

_**2 cups whole almonds  
1⁄4 cup honey  
2 tsp. grated orange zest  
1 1⁄2 tsp. ground cinnamon  
1⁄2 tsp. ground allspice  
1⁄2 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg  
1 cup finely chopped dried apricots  
1 cup finely chopped pitted dates  
1 cup confectioners' sugar  
**_

_1. Preheat oven to 400°. Arrange almonds on a baking sheet in a single layer and toast in oven for 10 minutes. Set aside to cool, then finely chop._

_2. Meanwhile, combine honey, orange zest, cinnamon, allspice, and nutmeg in a medium mixing bowl. Add almonds, apricots, and dates and mix well._

_3. Pinch off rounded teaspoon-size pieces of the mixture and roll into balls. (Rinse your hands often, as mixture is very sticky.) Roll balls in sugar, then refrigerate in single layers between sheets of waxed paper in airtight containers for up to 1 month. Their flavor improves after ripening for several days._


	50. Breakfast of Champions

**The Keening Blade**

**Cbapter 50: Breakfast of Champions**

The dockyards buzzed uneasily with repressed violence. Loghain pointed at the narrow gate to the Qunari compound and asked Aveline, "Is that that the only means of egress?"

Too worried to glare, she replied, "I...believe so. I have never heard of any other."

"Then have your men form ranks here, and get some archers up on the steps to shoot into the Qunari's flank if they try to break out."

"Surely it won't come to that!"

Loghain scowled at her in answer.

Maude made a face. "We'll try talking _first."_

The Qunari guard at the compound gate glanced at their party. "Not all of you may enter."

Aveline nodded impatiently. "Then I, the Regent and two of my guards…" She saw the furious blaze in Loghain's eyes, and added, "..and the Warden-Commander will enter. Is that acceptable?"

"It is."

"Stay here with Zevran," Maude ordered the dogs. "Really. This is serious."

The dogs did not like it, but obeyed. Ranger did not object to the smell of the compound at all, remembering a friend who had smelled like that.

Loghain stepped back and spoke swiftly to his companions. "Wait here. And you— Sebastian—get up there on the steps with the other archers. If this goes bad we need to be prepared."

Ambrose said, "The guard captain made it sound like she's more worried about people attacking the _Qunari."_

"She's wrong," Loghain said briefly. "Not even Kirkwallers are crazy enough to attack a fortified body of Qunari."

The gate opened, and Loghain strode in behind Maude, looking about. Well-fortified, indeed. With the gate the only access point, he knew he could have held this place for days. Loghain hoped that Hawke had luck finding the book the Arishok wanted.

The inside of the compound was tense as a coiled spring. Every one of the Qunari was horned, which made them look very different from Sten, the only Qunari Loghain had ever known well. Apparently. hornless Kossith were regarded as something remarkable, and had been sent to Ferelden with the expectation that they could "blend in" better with the locals. Loghain snorted. As if heavily-armed, lavender-eyed, seven-foot-tall giants were likely to go unnoticed…

In their Qunari war panoply, smeared with red ochre, these beings looked truly formidable. And the biggest was not seated on his chair of judgment up on the dais above, but was waiting, great double-bladed axe in hand, standing at the foot of the stairs.

"That's the Arishok, yes. Let me do the talking," Maude whispered. "And Qunaris aren't much for introductions, so don't be offended."

Indeed, the Arishok's eyes were on Maude as she approached. Loghain was interested in how Maude's body language changed the moment she entered the Qunari's territory. She took on a curious stillness and impassivity. Doubtless those were traits valued by these strange people. The Arishok greeted her courteously enough.

"Greetings to you, the one called _Kadan _by a Sten of the Beresaad."

"And to you, Arishok."

Aveline did not stand on ceremony. "Greetings, Arishok. We would speak to you about the elven fugitives that took refuge here."

The Arishok seemed not at all interested. "Irrelevant. I would speak about the relic stolen from my grasp."

Grimly, Loghain said, "We have discovered who has it, and are taking steps to obtain it. It will be returned to you, of course. It is of no value to us."

Maude smiled fixedly. Loghain supposed he had said something tactless.

The Arishok regarded him coolly, and said, "The thief's part is clear. Your admission is surprising...and welcome."

Maude said, "I have not been long in the city, but I have learned much. I know what it is that brought you here. I know who took the item you seek. I believe that I can lay hands upon it and return it to you." She took a careful breath. "If the item were returned to you, would you then be free to return home with it?"

"I cannot leave without it."

"Permit me to seek clarification. If the item were returned to you, _would _you then depart?"

"The Tome of Koslun must be taken to Seheron." He narrowed his eyes. "I have no patience with trickery or delays."

Maude smiled faintly. "I once found a Qunari sword—a single sword—in a land ablaze with war. I can find the Tome of Koslun."

The Arishok inclined his head. "I have heard this story, and of how the Sten thought you might be an _ashkaari_—a finder of secret truths. If the Tome of Koslun is put in my hands, I and all my soldiers will take ship and gladly depart this city."

Maude relaxed slightly. "Then find your ships, Arishok, for I swear to you that I will put the Tome in your hands within the day." She began to reach inside her armor. "As a token of my good faith, I have brought a gift…"

Aveline interrupted her. "This is all very well, but it doesn't settle the matter of the fugitives. Arishok, two murderers are hiding in this compound. Turn them over, and then you can go in peace, and welcome!"

Loghain took a quick breath. Maude's face froze.

"You _idiot,_" she hissed under her breath. "Shut up, Aveline, and let me settle this."

The Arishok stared Aveline down. "The elves are now viddathari. They have chosen to submit themselves to the Qun. They will be protected."

Maude was at her most soothing as she asked, "Do they truly believe, or are they simply sheltering behind your strength?"

"They have chosen, and so have I. You know the corruption of this city. You will understand why I must do this. Let us look at your 'dangerous' criminals.' Speak, viddathari, whom did you murder, and why?"

A pair of slender elven men—boys, really—with dark red headwraps and burning eyes came forward. The taller of them spat out his words, still angry.

"A city guard forced himself on our sister. We reported him—or tried to—but no one would listen. So, one night we paid him a visit!"

"That doesn't excuse murder!" Aveline protested.

"Is it _true?"_ Loghain demanded.

She scowled at him, hating him. "There have been rumors. I will investigate. But that does not excuse them taking the law into their own hands."

"Of course it does!" Maude snapped. She looked at the slender young elves, her brows knit in stress. "I know _exactly_ what it is to be in their position. Grievous, irreparable harm was done to one they loved, and there was no hope of justice for them! I remember once when I sought justice, and was told that I 'had no rights!' So you know what I did? I sought out justice for myself, and I killed a man. I have never regretted it. These elves are right: maybe—just maybe—some strutting bully will hesitate to rape an elf, because he'll remember what happened to that guardsman of yours!"

The Arishok shook his massive head. "Their actions are mere symptoms. Your society is the disease. The viddathari will submit to the Qun, and find there a path your kind has denied them. Despite lies and fear, _bas_ beg me to let them come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose. The elves have made their choice, just as the one who was once the Viscount's son did. You will not deny them."

Loghain followed the Arishok's glance. Saemus must be the young, blue-eyed human, also wearing a red head-wrap, standing in the shadows. He glanced their way with nervous defiance.

"You can't just decide that," Aveline said. with a fierce gesture of denial. "You _must_ hand them over!"

"Tell me,_ Kadan_ of the Sten," said the Arishok to Maude, "What would you do in my place?"

Maude paused, clearly torn between diplomacy and honesty. Perhaps unfortunately, honesty won. "I would never, _never_ surrender a suppliant under my protection."

And there it was, Loghain realized. The children in the mansion, the fierce defense of Wynne. Maude would see the analogy to the Arishok's situation with the elves. It was of a piece with her refusal to kill anyone who had surrendered to her, and thus a part of her aristocratic worldview. A noble must protect a guest under his roof; he must defend his vassals. Maude believed that nobles must, on occasion, actually behave in a noble fashion; and no time was more appropriate than when someone was at your feet. Granted, bullies found that the best time to crush other people; but Maude hated bullies.

"I am of your mind," agreed the Arishok. "Exactly so. I cannot leave without the relic, and I cannot stay and remain blind to this dysfunction. There is only one solution..."

But Aveline was utterly furious at what she perceived as a betrayal.

"I demand that you surrender the fugitives to justice at once!" she said, her voice growing shrill.

"Aveline," Maude said, quickly and urgently, "Let him go, let him take his viddathari with him, and just _go._ Forget about revenge for your rapist guardsman. Not going to happen."

Aveline lost her head completely, and pushed forward. "Arishok, there is no need—"

Something changed in the Arishok's eyes then.

"You have come too late, _Kadan _of the Sten."

He turned his back on them. The audience was clearly over, and Loghain had a very bad feeling—

_"Vinek kathas!" _rumbled the Arishok.

Maude's eyes widened_. _"Oh,_ fuck!"_

Loghain glanced up at the balconies surrounding the courtyard, and raised his shield just in time. A bad situation and a bad position. A rain of heavy spears drilled down at them. A scream, and one of Aveline's guardsmen was on the ground, skewered like a rat on a stick. The man thrashed and was still. More spears followed. Maude dodged one, and knocked another aside. The spears thundered on their shields, and the Qunari on the ground closed ranks and advanced.

"Withdraw!" Loghain shouted. "Come on, Maude! We can't fight a hundred of them!" Another spear struck his shield, and he staggered from the force of it. Another guardsman was wounded in the leg, and stumbled. Without a word, Maude heaved him up on her shoulder and they fled back through the narrow gate, out of the compound.

Loghain kicked the gate closed behind him, and looked about for something to barricade it. They were at the docks, after all.

"Darrow! Get some of those barrels. Crates! Anything! Pile them up in front of the gate! The Arishok has declared war!"

"What can he hope to gain?" Aveline asked.

Maude hit her hard on the jaw, and the tall woman reeled back, shocked.

"What do you think, bonehead?" Maude shouted. "He hopes to kill a bunch of us, and every life lost will be your fucking fault! I nearly had him talked down, but you just _had_ to pander to your gang of bullies, and now a lot of people are fucking going to _die!"_

Aveline rubbed her jaw, furious. Loghain pulled Maude away, while Valentine and Kain stepped in between the two women.

Arrows and spears shot out from the narrow gateway. Loghain snarled, and signaled his people to duck behind the makeshift barricade. "Maude, take your springbow and get up on those steps with Sebastian!"

She dashed out, running low, and was around the corner, telling the Prince of Starkhaven about the current disaster.

They had the Qunari sewn up and pinned down, but they could hardly leave before the city guard came to reinforce them. Storming the compound through that narrow bottleneck would be suicide.

Loghain considered their position, and took a hard look at the rooftops overlooking the compound. Somehow, they had to get their own people up there.

"Aveline!" he said, pointing to the tall building fronting the street. "Where is the door to that building? We need to command the heights!"

As guard captain, she knew quite a bit about property ownership. The building was a city warehouse, and along an alley running perpendicular to this street was a door that would get them inside. Not everyone could go: the Qunari were certain to launch a sortie soon. Loghain presumed that they would want to break out and make for the ships in the harbor. This might well turn into a siege, unless they could get a clear field of fire down into the compound. Furiously,Loghain wished he had some Stardust bombs, or even Dworkin's lyrium explosives. This was going to be a nasty job, even though it should not be_ his_ job. He could not get his people, their passengers, and their gear safely to their ship with the Qunaris in arms.

Aveline sent two of her guardsmen toward the alley entrance to the warehouse. Their job was to scout out the rooftops and watch what the Qunari were doing. If a sortie was imminent, they were to give Aveline a shout.

So there they were. Arrows continued to come through the gate, holding them off. Time passed, and no more guardsmen appeared in answer to Aveline's messages. Aveline swore, and planned horrible punishments for them. A noise from the the windows fronting the street, and one of the guardsmen called down in a muffled whisper.

"Captain! I don't think they're here! There's just four at the gate. Everybody else seems to be...gone."

"A back way. An escape plan!" Loghain growled. How could he blame the Arishok? If Loghain had been confined to this cul-de-sac for months, _of course_ he would found another way to get out, even if he had been forced to tunnel through solid rock. A handful of brave soldiers had stayed behind, giving their lives to save their comrades. How...human.

He snapped at Aveline, "Get some more men up there and pick the Qunari off. We need to search the compound and verify that they've evacuated."

Furious, Aveline ordered three more archers up into the building. Then Loghain knew it was time to distract the defenders. He and Aveline and other shield bearers waited until the archers had time to get into position. Then they charged.

Eventually the Qunari defenders lay dead, the gate was smashed down, and they were in the echoing emptiness of the compound courtyard. It did not take long to find the hole that had been dug through the rear wall. The Qunari had patiently chipped away at the mortar and removed the stones. Then they had dug through plaster, and pushed away planks. The breach led into the basement of the adjoining warehouse. The Qunari had cleverly concealed the opening, with crates and barrels and loose planks and a bookcase, but during the final exodus, there had been no reason to disguise their movements. The door to the warehouse stood open, and dead men were scattered about in heaps.

"They couldn't get to the docks this way," Aveline said, growing pale. "This street curves back to Lowtown. The Qunari are already rampaging through the city!"

There was no time to stand there bewailing the disaster. Some of the guardsmen were detailed to remain in the dockyards, while Aveline and the rest of her men joined the Wardens. Together, they hurried back up the steps to Lowtown. Already they could hear distant screams.

They ran, and met frantic civilians fleeing toward them.

"The Qunari!" howled a man. "They're killing everyone!"

They met scattered resistance in the shabby residential streets. The Qunari had moved out fast, not bothering to break down doors and sack the slums. Loghain knew where he would be going were he the Arishok.

"Where does that lead?" he asked, pointing at a high, barred gate.

"The Alienage," Maude said, "the elves have locked themselves in. The best thing for them, really."

"He's going to the take the citadel," Loghain predicted. "Slaughtering civilians would be 'wasteful,' in their parlance. He's going after the Viscount."

Past the Hanged Man, they met Hawke, Varric, Merril, and Fenris, making a stand by the alley leading to the Foundry District.

"Where's Isabela?" Maude shouted.

Hawke's face was bleak. "Gone. While we battled an ambush, she made off after the fellow who had the Tome. She's probably halfway to Ostwick with her prize by now."

There was no time for regrets over the man's wayward mistress.

Loghain said, "The Qunari made themselves an escape route, and got away while we thought we were holding them at the compound gates. I believe they mean to take the city."

"We saw the Arishok go past," Hawke said. "He detailed a few to fight here, but he was headed to Hightown." He added, "I saw Saemus with him."

Maude clicked her tongue. "Idiot boy."

Slaughter might be 'wasteful,' but plenty of civilians were being slaughtered, anyway. Scores of terrified people crossed their path, unable to reach the city gates and afraid to make for the docks. Moving through a side alley in Lowtown, they discovered that the Qunari were not without allies within the city. A Sten was in command here, busily securing the Lowtown market square with discipline and dispatch. The Wardens engaged him, and then found themselves attacked by a mob of elves, all wearing the red headwrap of the Qunari convert. And while the elves wore no armor, they carried fine Qunari steel.

They were unskilled and inexperienced, however, and went down quickly. It was an ugly massacre. Loghain hated them just as he hated all enemies who tried to kill him, but afterward he admitted the justice of the Arishok's words. Why should the elves of Kirkwall feel the slightest loyalty toward those who ground them underfoot? Why not grasp at any possibility of escape?

Moving across the bridge to Hightown, they found the market all but deserted. Only a Qunari patrol was there, mopping up resistance and taking any civilians they found prisoner. They saw the Wardens approaching, and charged.

_"Teth a! Bas!"_

It was a fairly brutal fight. The Qunari had two of their mages with them: chained, their horned chopped off, lips sewn shut. _Saarebas, _Maude told him, was the term. However unspeakably abused, they fought for their masters. Though they had not a shred of finesse, they commanded a great deal of raw power, casting plumes of blue-white flame and bolts of crackling lightning. Loghain found being knocked off his feet an unpleasant surprise. Aveline's guardsmen were burnt alive from the inside out.

"Target the mages!" Loghain shouted.

It worked. Those immense spells took time to recharge. Before that could happen, the Qunari mages were paralyzed, frozen, beheaded, and shattered. Loghain finished off the tough Qunari officer, and the Wardens, alert for traps and ambushes, surged on through the streets of Hightown.

The citizens had barricaded a number of streets—in some cases successfully. What streets remained passable funneled them out towards the great square in front of the Viscount's Keep, where a raging battle was in progress.

For the first time, Loghain saw Templars fighting to defend the city. There were not many of them, true: perhaps two dozen in all. Loghain caught a glimpse of the long blonde hair that belonged to Knight-Commander Meredith. Loghain respected the woman for emerging from her fortress in the Gallows to stand against the city's enemies. Then he realized that as Templars they did have some sort of obligation to defend the Chantry, which was also in Hightown. His lip curled.

And another thing: yes, they were out and fighting at last, but in front of them, and bearing the brunt of the Qunari counterattack, was a small band of Circle mages.

Their leader was impressive. He was a rather small elf of middle years, hurling fireballs at the enemy with admirable speed and power. A _Saarebas_ countered with a bolt that sent the elf flying. At once, Ambrose and Bethany froze the enemy mage in his tracks while Maude, Varric, and Sebastian shot him in every vulnerable spot. A crash, and the _Saarebas_ toppled, his face connected with the paving stones, and he lay dead.

"I am First Enchanter Orsino," the elf introduced himself, dusting off his elaborate robes. "And if you are Grey Wardens, then _you,"_ he sketched a little bow to Loghain, "must be the Dragonslayer and Hero of Ferelden. And you're just where we need you to be today."

Meredith approached, taking no more notice of Orsino than she would of dirt under her boot. She spoke, instead, to Loghain.

"Warden-Commander. It is generous of you to lend us your sword today. From what I can gather, the Qunari have forced their way into the Keep and are holding the Viscount and many of the nobles hostage."

"This can't be all your men. Where is Ser Alrik?" Maude demanded. "Where's my boy Cullen? You'd think they be out defending the city."

Meredith smiled coldly. "Ser Cullen has been remanded to his quarters for dereliction of duty. Ser Alrik has…other tasks. Let us finish this business first, and then we shall discuss the matter."

Maude's smile was equally cold. "We certainly shall."

* * *

The Qunari held the Keep, and must be dislodged. They must be dislodged quickly, since they otherwise would be sending out the Viscount and his nobles in small pieces. The Wardens could force their way through, but a distraction would be essential.

It was First Enchanter Orsino who ran out, a fireball blossoming in each hand. It was he who led the Qunari guard at the open bronze doors on a merry chase. That diversionary tactic was one of the bravest deeds Loghain had ever seen, and one of the unlikeliest to win any praise or rewards. Meredith took his sacrifice for granted, as she would a housemaid cleaning a floor. Loghain decided that if he had been born a mage, he would have killed every Templar in Thedas.

The distraction worked brilliantly. The Wardens, plus Zevran and Hawke and his friends, piled through the open doors of the Keep.

* * *

Qunari defended the great entrance hall; defended it with traps and swords and their lives. A pair of Qunari Saarebas were there, too, and they needed to be dealt with quickly. Varric was thrown against a wall, and afterwards Bethany went to some effort to heal his concussion. There was time only for a sip of water while they prepared to move on. Bodies littered the fine stone floor, and their blood dyed the carpets. Guardsmen had fallen here, but also serving maids and noblemen.

The doors to the barracks were locked. Aveline swore bitterly, but there was no time to go looking for guardsmen in hiding. From the noise ahead, the survivors had been herded into the throne room. Down, down the long hall, stepping over more corpses, they made their way to resolution of the conflict. At the end of the hall the doors to the throne room were closed. Maude tested them carefully.

Through them, muffled, they heard the Arishok shouting.

_"Here is your Viscount!"_

The screams that followed suggested that something unpleasant had happened to the old man.

_"Look at you. Like fat dathrasi you feed and feed and complain only when your meal is interrupted. You are blind. I will make you see!"_

Maude finished with the locks, and stood back, mouthing at Loghain, _"Good to go."  
_

He took a breath, and kicked the doors open. Revealed to them was a scene of high drama and chilling horror.

The severed head of Viscount Marlowe Dumar lay on the carpet in front of them, mouth open, eyes rolled back in death. The nobles of Kirkwall—a sorry lot—cringed and cowered before the invaders. Against the far wall stood Saemus, the Viscount's own son, tears in his blue eyes, but still loyal to the Qunari.

The Arishok nearly smiled at the sight of Maude, and he said, "But we have guests." Slowly, he descended the steps from the throne toward her.

_"Shanedan, Kadan_ of the Sten. I expected you here. But for all your might you are no different from these _bas._ You do not see."

"I see my way clearly. You see yours. "

"So tell me,_ Kadan. _You know I am denied Par Vollen until I can obtain the Tome of Koslun. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?"

From the door, another woman spoke.

"I believe _I_ can answer that."

The Rivainni pirate swaggered into the throne room, a huge tome under one arm.

"Isabela!" cried Hawke, unbelieving and overjoyed.

The woman shrugged. "It took me awhile to get back, what with all the fighting everywhere. You know how it is."

"Well done, Isabela!" cried Maude. "At just the right moment!"

"Heroic acts of self-sacrifice?" Hawke said to his lover, in an aside. "This is unlike you!"

"It's your influence, Hawke," said Isabela. "Pathetic, I know." She grimaced, and surrendered the Tome to Maude.

"I have kept my word to you, Arishok!" Maude declared. "I swore that you would have the Tome within the day, and behold! It is done!"

The Arishok accepted the book, and stared at her, eyes unreadable. With great reverence, he handed it off to a subordinate, and then turned to Maude. "It is so. The relic is reclaimed. I am now free to return to Par Vollen—with the thief. She stole the Tome of Koslun. She must return with us."

"Oh, no!" Aveline cried. "If anyone's going to kick her arse, it's me!"

"I _said, _Arishok," Maude declared, her voice clear in the great chamber, "that you would have your book, and that you could take your soldiers and your converts and go. That was my word on the matter, and I have kept it. I said nothing about Isabela. You cannot have her."

"You would defend the thief?" growled the Arishok.

"Isabela was just doing what Isabela does: taking other people's stuff. It's her nature. She is a brave comrade, who stood beside me against darkspawn and demons in the Deep Roads. You can't have her. I do not give up those under my protection. You, of all men, understand that. You have the book. You get to keep your viddathari. I get to keep Isabela. I think that's fair, considering that none of this is my quarrel anyway."

Her voice— so confident, so winning, so _reasonable—_ had nearly everyone in the chamber nodding in agreement, even most of the Qunari, as ensnared as the rest. Loghain allowed the power to roll past him, all the time watching the Arishok's eyes. They glazed briefly…and then hardened.

Not the easy way, then. Definitely the hard way.

"Then you leave me no choice. I challenge you, Maude,_ Kadan_ of the Sten. We battle to the death, with her as the prize."

"Maude—" Loghain snarled.

"My fight," Maude said. "Not yours, Loghain." She gave him a sweet and secret smile, and whispered. "Trust me. It's going to be fine."

"Her fight," agreed the Arishok. "Not yours. You are not _bas-alit._ You are not a _Kadan_ of the Sten of the Beresaad."

Maude was luminous with calm. "I accept your challenge, Arishok!"

"It is well. You alone are _Basalit-an."_ The Arishok shouted at the trembling nobles. "This is what respect looks like, _bas!_ Some of you will never earn it!" He hefted his axe, and bellowed. _"Meravas! _So shall it be!"

The dogs were made to sit and be quiet, and the duel began.

They faced each other, the Arishok vast and corded with muscle, towering over the slender woman opposing him. Hawke and Varric exchanged worried looks. Isabela pretended to be unconcerned. Loghain promised himself that she would never leave this room alive if Maude were killed. Aveline, too, for that matter. Her blundering had sparked the violence.

In fact, he was feeling fairly pissed-off at all of Kirkwall. If the Viscount's severed head had been near his foot, Loghain would have kicked it through a window.

Maude and the Arishok were circling now, eyes only for each other. Maude's sword was out, and a closed, intense, rapt half-smile lit her face. Loghain knew that look well. It was Maude's game-face, and he had first seen it in the Landsmeet Chamber when they had dueled…was it only two years ago? He had underestimated her then, and he prayed that the Arishok was underestimating her now.

_Watch him, Maude. Watch him. Watch his eyes. He's going to…_

The massive rush of the Arishok was awe-inspiring. He was far faster than Loghain had expected, and moved from complete stillness to the the momentum of a charging bronto in seconds.

But Maude was fast, too; no one faster. Almost too quickly for Loghain to comprehend, she was charging to meet the Arishok's attack, and as they met, her left hand flashed out, using the Qunari's mighty shoulder as a handhold. She swung up and to the side, arcing gracefully like a tumbler, sword arm raised high. Loghain glimpsed her face and hissed in shock at the mask of dark bloodlust.

She plunged her sword downwards into the top of the Arishok's spine, just underneath his gleaming armor. At the blade drove in, grinding against bone and sinew, she screamed out with the effort, screamed like she had never screamed in childbirth. The Arishok's inertia sent him crashing into the wall.

But Maude had already pulled her sword free, and she leaped to the side, rolling sideways and then stopping in a graceful crouch, still gripping her sword, with her left hand touching the floor for balance. Her head snapped up, staring darkly as the Arishok hit the wall. He slid down bonelessly, like an unstrung puppet. Blood smeared the wall, and then spread out from his body, like ripples in a still pond.

He was dead. Dead within less than a minute from the start of the duel. The Qunari gaped in disbelief, and a thin, wild babbling rose up from the terrified nobles.

"The city has been saved!"

The Wardens had no restraint at all. Lusty cheering echoed from wall to wall to roof. The dogs barked in excitement. Loghain heard their voices as if underwater, but they were all distinguishable to him, even the voice of that bloody Antivan.

"_Brava,_ my Warden! _Bravissima!_ A single blow!"

Loghain could not take his eyes from Maude, as she slowly straightened up, and then looked his way, the slumberous fire in her eyes enthralling him. He would really like to find somewhere to…

The door burst open, and Meredith and a dozen of her Templars dashed into the room, swords drawn. The Knight-Commander looked around her, betraying her disappointment at the shocked Qunari, the massively dead Arishok in a pool of his own gore, the cheering Wardens, the relieved and hopeful nobles; and she cried out, like a child forgotten at Satinalia—

"Is it…over?"

It might be. It could be. Loghain caught his breath. But then her face reddened with rage and embarrassment, and she waved her sword at the surviving Qunari.

"Kill them!"

And the Qunari weren't having that, obviously. They charged down the steps to the throne, ready to sell their lives dearly. It was madness; it was a storm of death.

"Valentine! Bethany! Sebastian!" Loghain roared. "Get the civilians to the corner there, and defend them!"

They had done enough: they had bloody done _enough_ for this crazy, drooling-mad city. Let the bloody Templars fight the bloody Qunari, since they had done little enough so far. With cool approval, he saw a pair of Templars go down.

_Mustn't let the Qunari actually win, though,_ he realized with a slight regret. _That would be bad for us and for these poor puling nobles._

"Saemus!" Maude called out. "Put down that sword and get over here!"

The young man glanced at her, through the fog of battle, and gave her a slight, sad shake of the head. He raised his sword and advanced, a little tentatively, behind his Qunari brothers. Meredith gave a howl of triumph, and lunged at him, impaling him with her greatsword. Then she shoved him away, leaving him to scream and flail and die.

"You bitch!" Maude shouted at her. "Fucking bitch!" She grabbed at Zevran and hissed something at him, eyes blazing. The assassin nodded and darted away, slipping through the press of fighters. Maude edged along the wall, eyes terribly blank.

Loghain shouted at one of the Qunari, "Get out of here or die!"

The Qunari was puzzled briefly at being offered a choice, but quickly elected to die. Loghain obliged him, dropping low, and sweeping out a swift arc with the Keening Blade. Entrails spilled out. Loghain felt quick, spiteful pleasure in having ruined an expensive carpet.

A Qunari and a Templar were having it out on the steps of the throne, but Loghain was not inclined to help either of them. He backed toward the wall, keeping an eye on what was going on as a whole. Aveline had taken down a Qunari archer. She was a fine warrior, certainly, but not a particularly good guard captain, in Loghain's opinion. Hawke was fighting admirably, and Varric's springbow was a remarkable weapon. Merrill, Isabela, and Fenris were holding back: they had joined the Wardens who formed the protective wall in front of the civilians. Loghain vaguely remembered being told that Fenris rather liked the Qunari. As more Qunari and Templars fell, the way to the antechamber behind them was clear, and Loghain gave Darrow a quick gesture that the sergeant understood.

Darrow bawled out, "Come on now, you lords and ladies. Move away. We'll keep you safe!"

The civilians stumbled from the throne room, some sobbing, some wailing, some babbling their eternal thanks. Loghain recognized the de Launcet women, and wondered where the Comte was.

Only a pair of Qunari remained, bleeding but still undaunted. One had to admire their courage and stamina, but dread it at the same time. Loghain wanted no Qunari in the Waking Sea…but there were other things he did not want either. Meredith had clearly hinted at a threat to Wynne and children, and he decided that he would not tolerate it.

He moved to Aveline's side.

"Guard-Captain," he said swiftly. "Surely you should take charge of the civilians. They are frightened, and will need protection and reassurance."

Aveline hesitated, her face taut with suspicion and dislike, but then she nodded and left, following the noble mob. Loghain heard her voice in the antechamber.

"I have a key to the barracks!" she shouted. "You will be safe there while the last of the Qunari are dealt with! Wardens, follow me. Warden Bethany will heal any wounds…"

Her voice faded. Loghain glanced at Kain by the door, and jerked his head to tell the man to follow the rest. Then he shut the door behind him.

The last of the Qunari was falling now. In the throne room were only the dead, and Loghain, Maude, Zevran, Hawke, Varric, and the dogs. Facing them were Meredith and three Templars. It was not at all a fair fight, and Loghain did not care.

Meredith disengaged her sword from the dead Qunari, and turned to find other forces arrayed against her.

"So, Dragonslayer? You seek to interfere in the work of the Chantry? In the affairs of a sovereign city?"

Maude stared at her with narrowed eyes. "Did you send that bastard Alrik to our house?"

Meredith stared back. "The city must be cleansed of apostates. Nits breed lice."

"How many did you send?" Loghain demanded. This woman was really, really pissing him off.

"A sufficient number," Meredith smirked.

Zevran, Loghain noticed, was not smiling, even though he smiled at most kinds of threats. Menacing the children clearly enraged him in a nasty, cold, flay-you-alive sort of way.

"That's it," Maude said bluntly. "You're going down, bitch."

"Really?" Hawke wondered, wide-eyed but willing. He hefted his sword. There was a streak of blood along his jaw, but he looked quite game, as did a grinning Varric.

"Princess," said the dwarf, "we're really going to miss you when you leave this city."

"Wait!" one of the Templars bleated, seeing the heads turn toward him like wolves scenting prey. "You can't get away with—"

Violence bloomed briefly, blood red and blood-scented. Later, it was impossible to determine who had actually killed Meredith. Once the other Templars were variously shot, stabbed, and slashed, it was a pile-on of gleeful abandon. Meredith was supposedly a fearsome warrior, but they gave her no chance to show how fearsome she was.

"Remove your crossbow bolts from the remains, Varric," Maude advised. "They're something of a giveaway."

"Oh, right."

Loghain scowled at Zevran. "What did Maude say to you?"

The assassin smiled bleakly. "That no matter what else happened, that madwoman was not to leave the throne room alive."

"And she didn't." Maude said happily, Tome of Koslun clutched protectively to her heart.

Loghain grimaced. "Now you _want_ the book?"

"Prize of battle." She lifted her chin, defiant. "Last token of a brave but misguided man. I'm sorry for the poor Arishok, and I _ought_ to take his stuff for a keepsake." She saw Loghain's raised brows, and nodded, tearing off a strip of bloodstained drapery. She wrapped the book in it. "Discreetly. We don't want a Qunari dreadnought sailing into Breaker's Cove! Anyway, let's go. We've got to get back to the house soon. Either Oghren held Alrik off, or we've got to break into the Circle and wreak vengeance."

"We will," Loghain assured her, "but we'll make a brief stop first."

Hawke cocked his head, looking at the shambles. "What now?"

Loghain walked over to a pile of corpses. Behind them was an iron circlet, somewhat bent out of shape. He scooped up the diadem of Kirkwall, and said, "Now it's time for those nobles down in the barracks to choose a new Viscount. That's how it was done before Meredith, wasn't it?"

Hawke frowned, "But, who—" He caught Loghain's eye. "Oh, no. No. I don't think—"

Maude beamed at him. "To paraphrase Flemeth: '_Destiny awaits you, dear boy. When the moment comes, do not hesitate to leap.' _Really, Adam, you're the only human of noble blood who's shown the least hint of competence in the entire time we've been here. It _has_ to be you."

Varric leaned on his beloved bow, and grinned. "If you don't seize the day, Hawke, you'll lose all rights to complain about how somebody else runs the city!" The grin widened. "What a wow finish to _Hard in Hightown!"_

* * *

In the Keep barracks, Adam Hawke was elected Viscount of Kirkwall by acclamation. It made perfect sense to Loghain, as Hawke was the only Kirkwall semi-noble so much as holding a sword at the moment. And his friend, the imposing Guard Captain, was standing behind him, also holding a sword. With some effort, the diadem was bent into a shape that would fit Hawke's handsome head.

"Look at Fifi de Launcet!" Maude whispered to Loghain. "Hawke had better watch out!"

Loghain did not see how Hawke could be taken in by the idiotic blonde's bosom-heaving sighs and lash-flutterings, but the girl seemed sincere enough in regarding him as her personal hero. If anything, the mother was even more enthusiastic.

Bethany shed tears of joy at her brother's rise to glory. She gave him a kiss, and fell in with the Wardens as they trotted in quick double-time back to Varric's mansion. Sebastian called out, "Wait! I must see if the Grand Cleric is unharmed!" and joined them part of the way.

The Prince of Starkhaven was otherwise silent, perhaps communing with the Maker about the significance of his friend Hawke's ascension. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows in the deserted Chantry courtyard. The Chantry itself was locked up tighter than a farmer's daughters when the militia was in town. Loghain spared the building a sneer.

"I shall give the glad tidings that the city is safe," Sebastian declared, "defended by the valor of its new Viscount!"

"And by _me,"_ Maude muttered, but Sebastian was already too far away to hear her.

There were no bodies on the steps, so Loghain felt growing hope that the Qunari had not made it this far.

"Fenris' house looks all right," Ambrose said. "Door's not broken down, anyway."

The Tethras mansion was off the wide court, past an arbor with marble benches. A jutting wall concealed the steps leading up to the front door. Maude swore aloud when she saw the huge bloodstain on them.

"I will _gut _that bastard Alrik!" she snarled. "I will hang him up by his—"

The front door swung open. "Too late," grinned Oghren. "Done and done."

* * *

The children were safe, locked in the attic, protected from the gruesome sight of six dead Templars sprawled in various stages of dismemberment in the high and wide reception hall of the mansion.

"I decided to let 'em in," Oghren said. "Easier to fight them in the open here in the hall, and the kid—" he gestured at Thanyra—"was up in that gallery with a clear shot at them. Wynne, too. Easier to hide the bodies this way, y'know."

"Good work," Loghain said briefly.

"There were seven," Thanyra told them, very impressed, "but the Elder caused their leader to shatter like an icicle." She added in a whisper, "I have never seen such power!"

"Sodding filthy mess," Oghren agreed cheerfully. "Had to sluice it down with a half-dozen buckets of water! Wynne's gone to sit with the kiddies. Probably needs a bit of a lie-down. Making Templars explode must take it out of her."

Zevran wasted no time, but ran up the stairs. They heard a distant knocking, and then nothing more.

Oghren and Thanyra were loudly praised, and then regaled with the events at the Keep.

"Huh!" Oghren snorted. "So your friend Hawke is going to be running this city? I suppose he can't screw it up any more than it already is!"

The sun would be setting soon, and the streets were still largely empty. Loghain decided the thing to do would be to dump the bodies in one of the cul-de-sacs by the entrance to the Keep. They would be found the following morning, apparently slain by the Qunari, The streetcleaners of Kirkwall, would undoubtedly be busy for many days to come.

"Let's move the bodies out to the entrance hall for the time being," he ordered. "And cover them with some of that sacking in the cellars."

"What about supper?" Valentine asked. "Is there anything left?"

Once reminded of food, everyone was absolutely starving.

"Come on!" Maude shouted, grabbing Ambrose and Bethany. The dogs ran after her, themselves ravenous. Loghain could hear her, complaining loudly of the squalor left over from the midday meal.

After the bodies were moved and covered, the children were allowed to come downstairs. Zevran was with them, and told Maude that Wynne had gone to bed.

Not having seen the slaughter, or even heard much of it, the children were in fairly good spirits. The two little girls skipped rope in the reception hall, while the boys played with tops and toy horses. Lilia disappeared into the dining room, wanting to help Maude.

Loghain thought he'd better help her, too. Being a clever, efficient girl, she had things well in hand. The ruins of the midday meal had been picked over. Crumbs and fragments were swept to the floor, and the dogs enjoyed the impromptu meal. The table then had to be scrubbed down.

The meat pies had been completely devoured, but some of the roast nug was left, and some cheese and bread. Maude set some wine to mull at the fireplace, so there would at least be a hot drink. That task she turned over to Ambrose.

"See that it doesn't boil," she commanded. "That would ruin it."

Bethany hastily washed and wiped the dishes and spoons. Loghain was set to carving every bit of edible meat from the nug. Lilia was running errands, and was sent variously to the pantry for eggs, butter, and a large frying pan.

"And bacon!" Loghain called after her.

"What I wouldn't do for some early greens," Maude muttered to herself. "I'd _love_ a salad. Loghain, let's go picking greens when we get back to Soldier's Peak!" She pulled a gauzy, gaudy bag from under her breastplate. "And we have some sugarplums for afters. I meant to give them to the Arishok—Sten was very fond of sweets—but well, poor fellow..."

Large amounts of scrambled eggs filled everyone up satisfactorily. Maude really was quite a good cook—and an admirable housekeeper, too—Loghain granted.

He would really,_ really_ like to leave tomorrow, but it would probably not be possible. Maybe _tomorrow,_ everyone could have a well-deserved rest.

Once darkness fell, the dead Templars, no longer leaky but growing awkwardly stiff, were manhandled out the door and through the silent courtyard. They saw no lights in Fenris' windows, nor in those of the houses they passed. Only a shaft of moonlight guided them to the killing field outside the Viscount's Keep. There were lights enough in there_._

The bodies were heavy, and Bethany followed behind, carrying some extra bits that Oghren had caused to fall off. At one point a hand escaped her, but Topaz dutifully retrieved it. Loghain checked their path for tell-tale traces and was satisfied. The bodies were scattered amongst the other bodies, and the Wardens retreated to their comfortable mansion.

Loghain was as happy to retreat as anybody. Maude had remained at the mansion, not even interested in looting the dead. Instead, she had cleaned up the remains of supper, and had helped put the children to bed.

"There's some hot water in the ewer," she told him, combing out her long brown hair in the privacy of their bedchamber, "but I don't suppose I've left you a single dry towel."

She stood in the dim light, pale and naked and strong, marked with bruises and scars; but beautiful, and his alone.

What bliss to remove his armor. It felt as if it were growing into his flesh, but somehow it was lifted away, and he could have a good, long wash, thinking over the tumultuous day. Maude slapped him playfully with a wet towel, and he indulged her with a weary smile.

"Maude, that duel with the Arishok…"

"Wasn't I marvelous?"

"Yes." He paused. "That was quite a move against a bigger and stronger warrior." A silence, while she scrubbed at his neck and shoulders.

"Looked pretty good, didn't I?" Her breath was warm on his back.

"If you had done that at the Landsmeet during our duel, you would have killed me out of hand."

"I know." She rested her head on his shoulder, hands slipping lower, squeezing voluptuously. "I didn't _want_ to kill you. I told you that a long time ago." She kissed a shoulder blade lightly. "Think how sad it would have been if I'd killed you like that. What do you think would have become of me? But I was too clever to end up alone, with no Loghain and no Loghain's baby. So I had to fix it so you'd surrender to me. Aren't you glad you did?"

He turned, and took her in his arms. "Every day."

* * *

It was not his bloody city, and he was not going to help these Marcher idiots scrub the blood from their stones. The next day, Loghain slept late. Well… stayed in bed, anyway.

The children eventually made them get up, running around the attic gallery like squealing little mice. Loghain grimaced glumly at his armor, and knew that he must clean it before he did anything else.

"Valentine's turn to cook," Maude said sleepily into her pillows. "I hope he makes pancakes!"

"It'll probably be porridge."

"Whatever."

The pancakes had elfberries in them. Life was good. Loghain and Maude picked through their loot, and began packing. Darrow and Kain were sent down to the docks to see if their ship was whole and ready. They returned with the news that it was. The shipmaster, during the fighting, had stood the _Wild Wyvern_ out into the harbor, and thus avoided being overcome by a band of surviving Qunari. Another ship had fallen to them, and had disappeared into the twilight, bound for parts unknown. Loghain had no doubt whatever that they would be back someday.

Later in the morning, a message came from the Keep.

"Warden-Commander, you and your Wardens are requested to attend the Viscount this afternoon." The messenger bowed, "And that, of course, includes Her Grace. The Viscount was most especially emphatic about _that._ There will be an audience, followed by a service at the Chantry and a celebratory feast._"_

"Good," remarked Ambrose. "I won't have to cook."

A celebratory feast? Loghain sighed, and unpacked his best doublet. Maude was more cheerful. "I brought my tiara," she said, "Somehow I knew I'd need it."

"Not that Dumat-thing, I hope," Loghain asked, rather worried.

"No! As if I want brain tumors! No, my real tiara. I brought it. You never know when you're going to need serious jewelry."

And she wore his favorite: that red gown with the red velvet boots. Only a few months after bearing a child, and she was back in splendid shape, fitting into his favorite gown and vaulting over charging Arishoks. Loghain knew he was a lucky man.

They emerged from the mansion to find that quite a few of the dead bodies were gone. Kirkwall was too vertical for horses and wagons, so men with stretchers had been going back and forth all day, gathering the dead, bringing them to the Gallows to be identified, and consigning them to the pyres. A haze of smoke shrouded the city. The mood was somber, but everyone acknowledged that it could have been far worse.

And the people seemed cheerful about their new Viscount Hawke. Why not? He was young, handsome, and brave. He had fought for them and triumphed. He was personally popular, due to his services to many in the city, and to his notoriety as the hero of Varric's hard-boiled romances.

A guard of honor met them at the steps of the Keep. Once inside, Loghain noted that quite a few carpets had been removed. Personally, he thought it improved the place. It made it less…Orlesian.

The bodies of the Viscount and poor Saemus had been removed with the rest. Hawke, wearing his iron diadem and a very splendid black and gold doublet, rose from his throne to greet them. Loghain was pleased to see that he had not cast aside his old friends. They stood ranged beside him, on either side of the throne. The seneschal might turn up his nose at them, but Loghain suspected that the seneschal would be let go before the friends.

"Citizens of Kirkwall!" Hawke began. "Honored guests! My friends." He smiled, and there was a rustle of pleased expectation. "We have suffered much, but the city survives and is secure. Never again, please the Maker, will we face such a danger so ill-prepared. Dark as the hour was, there were those ready to give all to defend this city of Kirkwall. I was privileged to stand with them!"

Cheers: quite sincere cheers, too. Loghain noticed that the Comte de Launcet was alive and well and standing with his wife and daughter. Perhaps he had been cowering in his mansion. The nobles of Kirkwall and their hangers-on were putting on a brave show, garbed in silk and velvet and adorned with every jewel they possessed. And Hawke—_Viscount _Hawke— was doing very well, speaking eloquently and looking authoritative. Loghain knew the fellow had the gift of the gab. He was friendly now, but he would bear watching. At least he had grown up in Ferelden, and would probably be well-disposed toward the country of his youth.

Hawke said, putting the mildest and most innocuous spin on the event, "While Knight-Commander Meredith perished in the battle, we are pleased to recognize the promotion of Ser Cullen to Knight-Commander of the Circle of Kirkwall, and we look forward to working with him in a spirit of cooperation and mutual respect."

Cullen, standing next to the Grand Cleric (and looking a trifle dazed), bowed. Loghain would have loved to know what had happened last night, when Meredith's death was confirmed. Presumably they had been forced to let the second-in-command out of his confinement in order to take charge. It was to be hoped that he did not prove as great a loon as his predecessor, but Loghain would wait and see.

Hawke's speech continued: "With so many wounded and injured, we consulted with the Grand Cleric and the Knight Commander, and obtained the services of mages of the Circle to heal those in need. I wish now to recognize the courage of First Enchanter Orsino, who personally faced the Qunari alone, creating a diversion that enabled a successful assault on the Qunari leadership!"

Surprised but polite applause, and some hearty cheers from Bethany and Ambrose. The elven mage looked about him, astonished that he would be remembered. Uncertainly, he came forward, and bowed.

"First Enchanter Orsino," said Hawke, "we are obliged to you for your bravery and your loyalty to the city. We hope, with your cooperation and that of the Knight-Commander, to make the emergency clinics a permanent feature of Kirkwall life: mages and Templars working together for the betterment of the city and its people!"

More applause and some wondering murmurs. It was not, Loghain noticed, an unpopular idea. He should mention this to Anora. The Grand Cleric seemed perfectly at her ease. Cullen was not, but gave a strained smile. Orsino was cautiously delighted.

Next, Hawke called his friends forward, recognizing each by name, and giving them a roll of parchment which had some sort of signed recognition by him, and then hinting that other—more fungible—rewards would be forthcoming. He made a special point of indicating that he was conferring Kirkwall citizenship on Fenris, Merrill, and Isabela, "with all the privileges and protections appertaining thereto." Aveline and Varric, of course, were already citizens.

"And our close friend Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven…"

Sebastian, all wide blue eyes, smiled at the proud expression on the Grand Cleric's face, and stepped forward, to be assured of the Viscount's personal regard, the importance of Kirkwall's ancient ties to Starkhaven, and Kirkwall's support when Sebastian should pursue his "rights."

Loghain was pleased. Maybe the young idiot had had _enough_ signs from the Maker in the course of the past two days that he would do his duty.

There was more, of course: "The entire city is beholden to the Dragonslayer of Ferelden, Loghain Mac Tir, and his heroic Wardens, without whose skill at arms the city of Kirkwall might well have fallen to the enemy…"

More cheers. Many cheers, and foolish grins, and cranings of necks to see. Loghain made his bow, shook the Viscount's hand, and the rest of the Wardens were all called up by name, and rewarded with gold or jewels.

"…including my sister Bethany Hawke. Bethany: I am proud to be your brother!"

She was given a beautiful sapphire necklace that Hawke must have found in the treasury of Kirkwall. There was much sympathetic applause, and much approval of Bethany's pretty face and gentle manners. A few onlookers whispered regrets that she was a mage and a Warden, and therefore not available on the Kirkwall marriage market. A family alliance with the Viscount would be highly desirable.

"And last, but in a place of special honor, I wish to call forth Her Grace Maude Cousland Mac Tir, Regent of Gwaren and Senior Warden of Ferelden…"

Maude had been watching everyone but her being honored, and perhaps suspected that something was being kept in reserve for her. With the grace of a hunting cat, she glided forward, all sleek red velvet and gleaming pearls, and dropped the Viscount a most beautiful curtsey.

"Your Excellency…"

Hawke said, "No one who did not witness it—and many here did—could believe that this noble and beautiful lady was the same fearsome warrior who defeated the Qunari Arishok in single combat. I was there, and saw the greatest feat of arms in my personal experience. With a single blow, Her Grace slew that mighty opponent, throwing the enemy into chaos. In recognition of this deed, I revive an ancient custom of the Free Marches, and name this lady Champion of Kirkwall!"

Very loud cheers indeed; and Loghain struggled to look pleased. He did not like the idea of any continuing ties to Kirkwall, City of Lunatics. Maude, of course, enjoyed the encomium, and her friends were delighted. Hawke presented to her some sort of grotesquely enormous medallion, set with a huge diamond and attached to a heavy gold chain, which if melted down would buy a year's provisions for the Wardens. Not that a sane man would suggest it. Hawke was smiling at her, kissing her hand; and then he whispered something in her ear, which caused her to nod and smile herself.

Then there was a procession to the Chantry, with throngs lining the way. Loghain glanced over to the place where they had disposed of the dead Templars, and saw that they had been carted away. The Grand Cleric—thank the Maker—made her sermon brief, and the music was very ethereal and very pretty, with Maude again being singled out for praise and attention. By the time that was over, the tables were arranged at the Keep, and the feast could begin. It was a very different affair from the one that had welcomed them to Kirkwall eleven days before.

They were leaving tomorrow, barring earthquake, flood, or fire from heaven, taking chests of loot with them. In the meantime, it was a very good meal.

Maude seemed glad to go home, too. "I miss Gareth so much, Loghain! My chain is very nice, but I need to hold Gareth as soon as I can. I hope Anders' potion works so I can nurse Gareth again. I hope Morrigan hasn't cursed the city of Highever. I wish I'd bought heaps more sugarplums. I'll leave some money with Varric and have some shipped."

"Why not just buy the ingredients and have them made in our kitchens?"

"Oh. Well. I suppose. But then we wouldn't get the pretty boxes!"

He snorted, and then asked, "What did Hawke say to you?"

She whispered, "He's sending a writ of citizenship and a bag of gold to Zevran, too. He understood why Zevran wanted to stay out of the public eye, but he still deserved thanks. And quite right, too. Oh, and food from this feast is being delivered to the mansion along with the writ, so Zevran and Wynne and the children will have a lovely dinner. Hawke can be very nice and generous when he's not being fierce and blood-thirsty, and I approve of that. It's too bad he's not a Bann of Ferelden, but that's all blood under the bridge."

* * *

They departed from Kirkwall the next morning, arrayed in their best armor, determined to leave the citizens sufficiently awestruck. No Templars appeared to bar their way. Cullen, of course, must be rather shorthanded, between the loss of Meredith and her companions and that of Ser Alrik and his murder squad. And since the Templars had to provide supervision for the various clinics—in the Keep barracks, in Hightown, in Lowtown, in Darktown, in the Alienage, and at the Docks—their available manpower was stretched too thin to further harass the Wardens.

Maude fretted over the children's bare feet, as they marched through the filthy streets. There was no help for it, though. Once they reached Highever, she would have them all measured for footwear by a reputable shoemaker.

They were hardy little Wardens, though; for even the smallest manfully did his best to keep pace without complaining. A mob of porters were hired to carry the Warden's luggage and chests of newly-won loot.

Wynne said little as they shook the dust of Kirkwall from their feet. Her sufferings had been great, and had changed her. She had been very pleased to hear of the changes in Kirkwall, and of the elevation of Adam Hawke—whom she thought a very nice young man— to Viscount. That did not mean she had the least desire to remain and see more. Instead, she spoke wistfully of His Majesty King Alistair and dear Queen Anora, and expressed her longing to see the little princess. Loghain hoped that Wynne had had enough gadding about to satisfy her for the rest of her life, and that she would be content to serve as Royal Mage henceforth.

It was essential to watch the children—most especially, to make certainly they did not throw themselves over the rail of the ship and drown. This became very much an issue when they reached the docks, and the children realized that Zevran did not intend to travel with them.

"Zevran!" the smallest boy sobbed.

"Zevran!" wailed the little girls.

"Don't _le-e-e-eave _us!"

The elf boy, Valandrion, began hyperventilating. Worse, tongues of flames were licking up from his hands. All they needed was a fire at sea…

Ambrose cast a sleep spell on the boy, and carried him onto the ship.

"I'll keep an eye on him. If I must, I can drain his mana, but that would be hard on him."

"Oh, dear," Wynne fussed. "Here, let's find a comfortable spot for him. Watch him _carefully,_ Ambrose…"

Maude turned to the Antivan, with a look of gentle reproach. "Zevran, you can see how much the children need you. I know you want to settle things with the Crows, but _fuck _that! The only way you can do it is either to kill them all or be their leader. The first thing is probably impossible. Do you want the second? You'd have to do it for the rest of your life."

Loghain, very carefully, said nothing.

Zevran confessed, "I really, really do not want to be a Warden."

"You don't _have_ to," Maude assured him. "But you can come back to Ferelden and follow other career paths. You can work for my brother. Nobody would be better at figuring out how to keep someone from being assassinated than a former assassin. At the very least, why don't you come to Ferelden and have a nice holiday with no one trying to kill you? Let the children get settled in. Then, if you still want to venture elsewhere, that's fine. Do you have any pressing appointments that would conflict with that?"

Zevran hesitated. Loghain could not blame him. The honey of Maude's words and the tear-stained faces of the children did their work.

"Why not?"

With a laugh and a shrug, the elf leaped down onto the deck and was surrounded by squealing children. At least there would be one more nursemaid.

Their ten Fereldan repatriates were there too, humble and hopeful. Lirene had organized a lottery, and all of those chosen had managed to survive the Qunari rampage through the streets. Possibly it was because most of them had been living in Darktown, which was not affected by the Qunari at all. Counting more carefully, Loghain noticed that they were rather more than ten, if one counted babes or toddlers in arms. He decided to say nothing.

There was a shifting in the crowd, and it parted, leaving a path for Viscount Hawke and his guards. The Viscount's raffish friends were there, too. There were bows and curtseys and hand-shakings and back-slappings. Aveline was there, looking stern and official. Loghain wondered if Hawke would ever tell her the full story of the fate of Meredith Stannard. If he did, would she care?

Varric was as affable as ever, and said, "This is good for a new volume of the continuing chronicles, Princess. You and the Dragonslayer will loom large. Almost as large as in real life. Loghain's particularly good at looming."

"Thank you," Loghain replied dryly. "I've made a study of it."

Isabela pressed close to Maude.

"Did you get the book?"

"Hmmm…the book, the book…" Maude cocked her head, and smirked. "I battled the Arishok with you as the prize. Technically, that means you have to be my slave, forever and ever. But if I keep the Tome instead, then we're square."

"Oh, all right, but never take my stuff again!"

"I won't, if you never nearly get me killed again." Isabela swaggered off to wish Zevran good luck. Maude smiled in great satisfaction at Hawke. "I looked really good, didn't I, fighting the Arshok?"

"You did," said Hawke. "A pity you don't have a sister somewhere."

Maude agreed. "I've always thought so, too. Of course, we probably would have fought like bitch-wolves over a rabbit!"

The captain insisted that they would miss the tide if they did not depart _immediately,_ and Loghain gladly gathered his people together. They cast off, moving out into the harbor, toward the great, ominous crack in the cliffs that would take them past the Twins. With any luck, they would never again see those ghastly colossi.

And so, he stood by Maude at the rail of the ship, happily watching Kirkwall shrinking away; unbending sufficiently to wave at the tiny figures of the new Viscount and the citizens of Kirkwall.

Idly, he asked his wife, "You never had the chance to loot the Circle Library. Do you regret it?"

"Yes," she sighed. "A _little._ But if Hawke has persuaded the Grand Cleric to let the mages have a modicum of respect and a real place in the city, I can't justify stealing their books. Besides, I should ransack the Ferelden Circle first: it's my patriotic duty to give them precedence. And I got at least one really rare book out of our little jaunt. We'll be studying the Tome of Koslun for years, trying to understand the Qunari."

"Trying to understand them, so we can _kill _them," Loghain muttered agreement.

She smiled and squeezed his hand, for the moment in perfect harmony. The sails billowed in the wind, revealing the glorious painted wyvern; the banners of Gwaren and the Grey Wardens fluttered bravely. Gulls screamed overhead, and cormorants soared in the blue sky. In two days, Loghain would again stand on Fereldan soil. All was well.

* * *

_Thanks to my reviewers: Oleander's One, Reyvatiel Songstress, KnightOfHolyLight, Zute, Jyggilag, Sah'Rahaal, butterflygrrl, riverdaleswhiteflash, Judy, Kira Kyuu, JackOfBladesX, Tsu Doh Nimh, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Mike3207, Josie Lange, Sarah1281, Jenna53, Phygmalion, sizuka2, timunderwood9, Tikigod784, MsBarrows, Psyche Sinclair, Shakespira, mille libri, Tyanilth, and EpitomyofShyness._

_I have plenty of material to continue this story, but I'm taking a break from it, in order to concentrate on Victory at Ostagar and my original fiction. Changing gears between my two fanfics each week was breaking my brain!  
_


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